Blinded by the Light
by DelusionalGrandeur
Summary: AU after OotP Manipulative Albus-rebellious Harry preslash SS/HP: Harry knew one thing without a doubt; never trust anyone. But when Harry is in dire straits he must turn to those he never trusted in the first place. Everyone else had let him down. Drama/Angst/Bouts of Comic Relief
1. Prologue

Blinded by the Light

Summary: AU after OotP Manipulative Albus-rebellious Harry preslash SS/HP: Harry knew one thing without a doubt; never trust anyone. But when Harry is in dire straits he must turn to those he never trusted in the first place. Everyone else had let him down

A/N: I've been working on this for quite a while—it's one of several fics I've been working on. It's a very long story, and I'm going to try an pace the updates as I'm still nowhere near finished and I don't want to just rush to put it all out there and then have a big long gap before more is added. I hope you like it.

Prologue

Harry stood still as a stone, ignoring the sweat pouring down his neck as he kept his eyes trained on the uncooperative stone gargoyle in front of him. His usually flyaway black hair was plastered to his forehead; his normally bright green eyes were dull from the heat, and his overlarge t-shirt was sticking to his slim frame. Not that anyone could see any of this. It was a warm, breezy day and few people had chosen to confine themselves inside. The few people who had happened to pass by had been oblivious to the impatiently waiting young man as he was currently stifling himself under his invisibility cloak, seemingly ignoring the heat.

'Three days.' Harry thought bitterly to himself, resisting the urge to start screaming his frustration at the stubborn stone guardian. It had been three days since his godfather had died, right before his eyes—three days of reliving Sirius' last triumphant grin. It had been three days since he had been trapped in the circular office and forced to listen while the all-knowing, meddling-fool of a headmaster displayed his God complex while completely dashing any hope Harry had ever had.

Just thinking about the prophecy made Harry's stomach clench and a shiver run down his back, despite the heat that had permeated the breezy corridor. He fought down the bile rising in his throat and forced himself to turn his mind to the task at hand.

It had been three days since Harry had destroyed everything in reach in the office that was soon becoming his most hated place, and three days since he had finally been allowed to storm out of the office and away from the blue eyes that were looking at him with that angering combination of expectation, sympathy and sternness. Harry had barely made it two corridors away from the office before he couldn't run anymore and had thrown himself down on the floor, sobbing like he had never sobbed before.

He had passed the night there, rocking himself back and forth—breaking down over and over again until no more tears would come. No one had bothered him. Numbness had settled over him, and in the dark he had almost been able to pretend that he didn't exist—that he was no one and nowhere. He could imagine the world spinning around him as it had been only a few hours earlier—with Sirius still alive—and he silently willed it to keep moving without him.

The pink light of dawn had shattered his illusion. As the light had grown, he had sloppily wiped at the dried tears and snot on his face and forced himself to stand. The numbness gave way to a gnawing ache in his chest.

Harry blinked out of his thoughts and tensed as he heard footsteps approaching down the corridor to his left. He held his breath and waited, willing whoever it was to be on his or her way to see the headmaster. He almost started screaming again when a fourth year girl he vaguely recognized from Ravenclaw flitted passed, completely ignoring the corridor to the headmasters' office. He turned his angry glare back to the gargoyle. It was smirking at him.

Dawn had brought a new wave of dread. OWLs were done. He had no homework—nothing to keep him busy—nothing to distract him. And then there was the realization that in less than two weeks Harry would be packing his bags, boarding the train, and returning to Number 4 Privet Drive.

Harry had broken out in a cold sweat. He had always, _always_ come close to breakdown when it came time to go back to the Dursleys. This time, he succumbed to the rising panic and had hurled back down the corridors to the stone gargoyle that guarded the headmasters' office and started spouting off every possible candy he could think of.

When he had run out of ideas for the password, he had taken to threatening the statue and begging it to let him in. It hadn't budged. He had kicked the thing, broke his hand trying to pound it into submission, and had finally broken down and started cursing the gargoyle with the darkest, foulest curses he could think of. He was still trying to destroy the thing when he had been interrupted by none other than Severus Snape: Potions Master extraordinaire and the only person Harry possibly loathed as much as Lord Voldemort.

The professor had bodily pushed him down the corridor and given him detention every night for the remainder of school.

It had been three days since then, and Harry had thoroughly ignored Snape and instead started his invisible vigil outside of Dumbledore's office. The gargoyle hadn't moved. No one had gone in, and no one had gone out. Harry had left only to use the loo and swipe something to eat from the kitchen.

Harry clenched his fists, ignoring the throbbing from his broken hand. Angry tears welled up in his eyes, and he blinked furiously. 'I hate him! If that damn prophecy is real—if I'm so important—why can't I even get in to talk to him.' Harry already knew the answer. Dumbledore knew that he was going to ask, and Harry already knew what the answer would be. But he also knew that he couldn't go back to the Dursleys. Not after his 'adventure' at the ministry. He couldn't face that hell on top of his own personal one.

Footsteps once again broke Harry out of his reverie, and he tensed barely daring to get his hope up. He had his wand clenched tightly in his broken hand and almost sighed with relief when Snape rounded the corner. The potion masters' black eyes were fixed on the gargoyle, black robes swirling around his tall form. A light sheen of sweat belied his cool demeanor, and Harry felt a flash of triumph that even Snape wasn't above such trifles as 'overheating.'

'Serves him right. Stubborn ass.' He eyed the professors' thick, overabundant robes distastefully before blinking himself back to the task at hand. The minute Snape said the password, Harry leapt forward.

"Petrificus Totalis!" He didn't give the man another glance as he shoved past, lunging up the stairs that were appearing before him. He slammed through the door at the top, suppressing a giddy laugh at the shocked face of Albus Dumbledore as he stepped out from under his invisibility cloak.

"Three days!" Harry started at the hoarseness of his own voice when he snarled at the old man who was calmly watching him through his half-moon spectacles. "Three days I've been try to get in here to talk to you, and three days you've been ignoring me!" He slammed his hand down on the desk, leaning over so he was glaring down at the headmaster. A roar echoed up the stairs and through the still-open door, but Harry ignored it. A second later, Snape was rushing into the room.

"Mr. Potter. At this moment in time, you will be very fortunate if I choose _not_ to dice you up to serve as fodder for first years practice potions."

Harry ignored him, keeping his glare on the headmaster. "Well!?"

"Don't you dare take that tone with the headmaster after barging into his office without an invitation! You insufferable—"

"That's quite alright, Severus." Dumbledore's eyes never left Harry. "I know why Harry is here." The old man sighed. "I had hoped you would have given up, Harry. You know what my answer will be. I'm disappointed that you still feel the need to ask."

Harry blinked back a new wave of tears. "I can't go back there."

"There is no other choice. I'm sorry Harry, but it's for your own good."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a second, breath hitching in his throat as his body shuddered in a deep sob. He only faintly recognized his pride rush forward to demand that he not break down in front of Snape, but he pushed it aside. "Please don't send me back there. I- I can't… Please…"

"Begging Potter? That's low. Even a spoiled brat like you should realize that you can't always get what you want."

Harry swung around to face the sneering man, face contorted. "Fuck off! I'm not talking to you!"

Black eyes flashed dangerously, but Harry had already turned back to Dumbledore. "You're a heartless bastard, do you know that?"

Harry took the moment of stunned silence as his chance to escape. He wiped angrily at the tears that were flowing freely as he stumbled down the stairs. He mumbled curses as he spewed past the gargoyle, blindly pushing past Professor McGonagall who was standing frozen in place at the opening to the stairs.

Harry's feet were glued to the floor only two steps down the corridor.

"Mr. Potter. To my office. Now."

Harry suppressed a shudder at the frigid tone his head of house had adopted. Snape's spontaneous release from the full body bind suddenly made sense and he winced at what he knew the deputy headmistress had just overheard. He chose to remain silent as he followed McGonagall down a floor to her office. It was slow going, as the professor was leaning heavily on a cane.

Harry was glad of the few extra minutes it took to reach McGonagall's' office. By the time he was seated in the stiff backed chair in front of her desk his out of control temper had cooled a bit. He waited silently while she opened a window and slowly set herself down at the desk.

"Professor, I…"

"Spare me, Mr. Potter. Your behavior was appallingly rude, not only towards myself but towards Professor Snape and the Headmaster." Harry fidgeted under 'the look' that he knew meant he was in serious trouble. Her lips were pressed so thin that they were paling from lack of blood, and her thin eyebrows were dipped low over narrowed eyes that bored into his.

Harry swallowed hard over the frustration that sent bile rising up his throat. "I can't go back to the Dursleys. And Dumbledore won't listen to me."

McGonagall shot him a hard look, and her lips pulled even thinner as she stared at him. Her thin eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. "I see. And why, pray tell, is it so imperative that you do not return to your legal guardians?"

Harry felt the glimmer of hope spark at the same time his stomach seemed to fill with snakes. If he could just tell her—if he could make her understand what it was like—if she would hear him out it would be worth telling her.

'She'll think I'm a coward.' The little voice in Harry had long since recognized as Pride butted in. He took a breath, lowering his eyes to the floor as he breathed out heavily. He swallowed over another wave of nausea. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke. "They beat me."

He didn't dare look up when he heard the slight intake of breath. He realized his hands were shaking and clenched them tightly, forcing himself to take a deep shuddering breath as he steeled himself to glance up. Before he could do so, he jumped at the surprisingly harsh voice that assaulted him.

"I am very disappointed in you Mr. Potter."

Harry flinched as the horribly familiar words dug into him. His eyes snapped up to take in her expression as she continued.

"I realize you are grieving for your godfather, but that is no excuse to spout lies! I realize the Dursleys aren't the most _understanding_ relatives, and it would be easier to mourn your loss among your friends but you must understand the importance of the blood wards."

Harry's eyes widened. "You think I'm _lying_?"

McGonagall rolled her eyes. "Do not look at me like that, Mr. Potter. The headmaster warned me that you might try something like this. Of course, I assured him that I had utmost faith that you would not do such a thing. I am very disappointed."

Harry was on his feet in a flash, white hot rage pounding in his ears. "I am not a liar!"

"Do not shout at me, Mr. Potter."

Harry did nothing to stop the tears this time. "You think I would lie? About something like this? It's true. My uncle beats me, and locks me in a cupboard, and they—"

"Enough! I've heard enough. You are just embarrassing yourself at this point, Mr. Potter."

"But—"

"No! Do not say another word. I have heard enough. Fifty points from Gryffindor for your rude behavior and another fifty points for skipping your detentions with Professor Snape. You will show up for the remaining detentions you have with him, or I promise you will have a very difficult sixth year. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry nodded mutely.

"Very well. You may leave. I suggest you have Madame Pomfrey fix that hand and then go rest. You look like death." She took a deep breath. "I know I'm being hard on you, but there really is no excuse for your behavior today. Eventually you are going to appreciate such normalcy. It will keep you grounded."

Harry turned to go, tears flowing steadily down his face.

"Mr. Potter." Harry paused to listen to the parting words. Her voice was gentle. "It would behoove you to know that the headmaster has told most of the staff and the Order about your current state of mind. You would do well to remember that should you feel the need to have another tantrum like the one you had today."

Harry didn't respond. Instead, he trudged out of the office and slowly started down the corridor. He realized half-heartedly that his invisibility cloak was still clutched tightly in his hand and he stuffed it into his pocket. He did the same with his wand. The few students he passed in the hall gave him a wide berth and their wide-eyed stares assured him that the professor's words were the truth. He did look like death.

He didn't go to the hospital wing, however. Instead, he shuffled down the stairs and slipped outside by a small, side exit. The sun immediately beat down on him, as he headed towards the lake.

'I'm disappointed in you_.'_ The words echoed in his head, and he fought against the rage that reared up. Harry blinked as he realized with sudden certainty that he really, truly hated Dumbledore. "I am not a liar." He didn't have to look at the scar on the back of his hand. The white, marred words were still fresh and clearly spelled out 'I must not tell lies.'

He circled the lake until he was well away from the milling students who were basking in the sun and enjoying the freedom from exams. The sun reflected off the water, causing his eyes to water as he sank to the ground.

'Sirius.' Harry let the tears come again and hugged his knees to his chest. He threw his glasses carelessly on the ground next to him. 'I'm sorry. This is all my fault.'

But it wasn't. Not entirely. If he had just known about the prophecy—but then, he couldn't have said that it would have honestly made a difference. Even if he had known, he would still have gone rushing off to rescue his godfather.

Only, his godfather had never needed rescuing. Instead, it was Harry that had to be saved from his own stupidity.

"I should have realized it was a trap." Harry muttered into his knees, closing his eyes against the brightness. 'But how was I expected to realize it was a trap when Dumbledore wasn't honest about the prophecy?'

Dumbledore. Harry's body shuddered as his exhaustion started to catch up with him. This was just another in a long line of letdowns. He swallowed another sob as he thought back to two years earlier, when he had helped Sirius escape. When his godfather had flown away on Buckbeak, he had taken with him a lot more than just one condemned hippogriff. He had taken back the hope he had given Harry only a short while before. The hope of a home, of an escape from the Dursleys.

That crushed hope had caused Harry to finally break down and go to Dumbledore.

_"Harry! How nice to see you. Come! Sit. Would you care for a lemon drop?"_

_Harry shook his head, staring down at the floor. _

_"Is something wrong?"_

_Harry nodded, chancing a glance at the Headmaster. He quickly averted his eyes from the twinkling blue ones of the older man he was quickly coming to think of as a grandfather. He opened his mouth to start talking, but quickly shut it again._

_"Harry?"_

_Steeling himself, Harry had taken a deep breath and started rambling. "Well, sir. You see… Sirius asked if I wanted to come live with him—except Pettigrew got away so it's not possible now. I understand that. Really, I do. But sir, I was so happy when I thought I was going to be able to leave the Dursleys—"_ Harry_ stopped and took a deep shuddering breath. "The Dursleys—Uncle Vernon mostly—he hurts me, Sir. He hits me, and beats me with a belt until I can't move anymore. They used to lock me in the cupboard under the stairs for days—sometimes weeks, until I got my Hogwarts letter and they got scared. Now they lock me in my bedroom, and they starve me and they make me work until my hands bleed. It wasn't so bad after I found out about Hogwarts—until they found out I'm not allowed to do magic outside of school. Uncle Vernon got so angry then…"_

_By this point, Harry was trembling and the tears were flowing freely. "I thought he was going to kill me, and he really tried to kill Hedwig. I was locked in my room for three weeks before Ron and Fred and George came and broke me out." Harry finally looked up at the headmaster. He wasn't smiling anymore, but Harry couldn't read his look any deeper. "I've got scars. I hide them and everyone thinks I'm a prude because I won't change in the dorm or in the locker room." Slowly, Harry stood and peeled off his robe. He tried to lay it on the chair, but was shaking so bad he missed and it ended up in a heap on the floor. He slowly peeled off the t-shirt he was wearing under his robes, and waited while the headmaster looked over his scarred torso. He turned around at a wave of Dumbledore's hand and let him see the scarred flesh on his back. _

_There was a long moment of silence before the headmaster spoke. "Go ahead and put your clothes back on, Harry." _

_Harry obeyed, retaking his seat and wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his robe. _

_"I'm disappointed in you, Harry. I didn't think you were a coward." _

_Harry's head snapped up. "What? I-I'm not—I just- I thought…"_

_Dumbledore shook his head. "You were placed with your family because there is unrivaled protection there. I know it's not pleasant, but I expected you to be brave and strong enough to handle it. I have to admit that I'm surprised you would whine."_

_Harry felt his face heat up, and he looked back at the floor. "I-I- but…"_

_Dumbledore sighed. "You know that Voldemort is still out there, Harry. You know that he's still trying to kill you. Now with Peter at large you are in even more danger. It isn't possible to remove you from the Dursleys."_

_Harry swallowed over the fresh wave of tears. "But sir—"_

_"Would you rather go stay with young Mr. Weasley and his family, knowing that Lord Voldemort might show up to kill you at any minute? Would you so willingly put them in danger? How about miss Granger and her family?"_

_Harry shook his head violently. "No! Of course not."_

_"I didn't think so." Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, gazing intently at Harry. "Voldemort and his supporters cannot approach the Dursley residence. You will have to stay there until you are seventeen. Then, the wards will fail and we will have to find a different safe haven for you. In the meantime, I'm afraid you are just going to have to deal with it my dear boy. I sure you will handle it admirably, with Gryffindor bravery that would put Godric himself to shame."_

_Harry nodded numbly. "I'm sorry."_

_"Don't be. Even the bravest of us get a little down trodden sometimes. Don't worry, Harry. I'll do you a favor and pretend we never had this conversation. No one needs to know that you had a moment of weakness. But really, it isn't a weakness now is it? After all, courage isn't the absence of fear but action in spite of fear. Are you sure you wouldn't like a lemon drop?"_

_Harry shook his head. "No. I think I'd better get back up to the tower. I still need to pack." _

_"Someday you'll thank me for this. Just remember that Harry. It's for your own good."_

_Harry nodded and left the office._

Harry shot awake, the memory still stinging like it were yesterday. Absentmindedly, he rubbed at some of the scars hidden under his shirt and glanced around. The sun was setting, and it was getting a little cold. His head was pounding in a way that meant he hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep for how exhausted he was. For a moment, he thought the chill had woken him until an icy voice suddenly whispered in his ear.

"The great Harry Potter sleeping in the dirt?"

Harry jumped, slamming his head into the potions master's jaw as he suddenly scrambled to his feet.

"Sorry." Harry spit out, eyes watering as he rubbed the fast emerging knot on his head. It had made his headache exponentially worse. He could barely make out Snape massaging his jaw and scowling down at him. He realized he didn't have his glasses on.

A quick scan of the ground later and Harry was looking back at Snape with alarming clarity. The man's hand was twitching much in the same manner that Uncle Vernon's did when he was refraining from hitting him at an _inopportune_ moment—such as out in public. Harry subtly tried to take a step back.

"You were supposed to be in my office over an hour ago—but I suppose 'the Chosen One' should be excused from the mundane necessity to mingle with the common folk. After all, who would _dare_ sentence the Golden Boy to detention?" There was a dark glint in his eyes, and Harry had to look away. He couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't get him deeper into trouble.

"But I suppose you think you should be excused from such things, am I right? After all, if the boy-who-lived is having a crisis, everyone is supposed to bend over backwards to accommodate him."

Still, Harry remained silent. Snape was a master of getting under his skin. It didn't help that Harry was sure the potions master had been _briefed_ by the headmaster on their confrontation earlier. The last thing Harry needed was to hear the same, excruciating lecture from the dour man before him.

"Do you think you should have a free pass, Potter? That you should be allowed to curse inanimate objects heedlessly and shout expletives at your betters?"

Harry shook his head, wincing when the motion aggravated the ache in his head.

Snape's glare intensified. "I should imagine you have quite the headache from your childish refusal to sleep for the past three days. But then, Dumbledore has always been far too lenient with you. You are so determined to get exactly what you want. Well now you get to reap the consequences, don't you? Don't expect pity from me. You're as pigheaded as your father, but at least he had the good sense to sleep when he needed to."

Harry started to reply, but closed his mouth with a snap. _'_He's baiting you.' He told himself forcefully. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to will away the pounding in his skull.

"So you do have some sense as to when to keep your mouth shut. But I suppose that is one lesson that had to be learned the hard way. I still expect you to serve a full detention tonight—and don't worry. We'll find a way to make up for the detentions you missed while you were—indisposed. Oh yes. I almost forgot. There's an additional two detentions—one for attacking a professor and another for foul language." His glare turned into a smirk. "My... You have a busy week ahead of you."

Harry gritted his teeth, but followed as Snape wordlessly turned and swept back towards the castle. Relieved of the harsh scrutiny for the moment, he allowed his shoulders to slump and his head to dip. He felt absolutely wretched.

"The dejected, kicked puppy look does not suit you."

Harry jumped despite himself. He glared at Snape's back as the man marched on ahead. For a minute he allowed himself to dwell on the envy he felt that the man could be so incredibly aloof. Harry could count the number of times Snape had lost his cool on one hand and still have a finger or two left over. As for himself—he would have more luck listing the times his emotions weren't raging out of control. Even then, he would be hard pressed to think of even one example.

The rest of the approach to the castle was silent, for which Harry was thankful.

The corridors leading down through the dungeons were deserted. When they reached the potions classroom Snape ushered him in with a cold glare. Harry glanced around, cursing to himself. Every table was stacked high with soiled cauldrons.

"I would assume you could figure it out without an explanation—but that would be giving you too much credit. Your intellect is considerably _lacking_ if your recent behavior is anything to go by. All these cauldrons are to be spotless before school is dismissed for the year. You will not use magic." Snape flicked his wand and a small cupboard creaked open. "You will find the supplies you need in there."

Harry nodded, but didn't move.

"Do not dawdle, Mr. Potter. You will not be allowed to leave for the night until you have made considerable progress."

"Yes sir." Harry was once again startled by the hoarseness in his voice. It was easy to forget the rawness in his throat when he wasn't speaking.

Snape sneered at him, and Harry met his gaze with what he hoped was cold indifference. Dark eyes flicked over him, and Harry fought not to squirm under the once over. He jumped again when the potions master suddenly closed the distance between them and snatched up his right arm.

"How long have you been nursing this broken hand?"

Harry shrugged, trying to wrench his arm away, but Snape's grip was firm and biting. He made an impatient noise in the back of his throat as he tapped the purple hand with his wand.

Harry sighed as the pain dissipated, though the bruising didn't fade. He experimentally clenched his fist. It was still tender, but the biting pain was gone. "Thank you." He muttered, quickly looking down at the floor.

Snape maintained his steely grip for a second longer, eyes boring into the top of Harry's head. Then, without a word he swept out of the classroom, slamming the door closed.

Harry stayed rooted where the professor had left him, staring unseeingly at the floor. Though he hadn't watched Snape leave, he could clearly picture the indignant way the man turned on his heel and the smooth, long stride hidden under the long layers of robe that billowed out behind him. It had always given Harry the impression that the man wasn't really walking so much as _gliding_—as if the potions master would never be caught doing anything as ungraceful as loping like the rest of the human species.

Harry smiled dully at the image of Snape hovering a bare inch off the ground, sneering at lesser mortals and saying without words that he was above such travesties as gravity. His smile faded and he forced himself over to the cupboard. Several buckets were stacked hazardously and there was a collection of worn scrub brushes and threadbare towels. He pulled out two medium sized buckets that were big enough to fit a single cauldron but small enough that Harry would be able to carry them when full of water. He chose the brush with the least amount of bristles missing and grabbed a few towels. There was only a single bottle of soap, which he assumed was specialized to not react with leftover potions ingredients. A quick scan of the label confirmed it—non-reactive, neutralizing cauldron cleaner.

He followed the instructions for mixing the cleaner, filling the extra bucket up with cold, clean water from the sink in the back of the classroom. He dragged the buckets toward the least promising pile of cauldrons—the ones with the nastiest looking grime. He didn't recognize any of the caked-on potions, and figured they were probably from the NEWT class. Either that or the first years were just particularly dreadful at potions this year.

The work was hard, but it was mindless. Harry pushed himself through the motions, allowing his mind to wander as he set up a rhythm that took him steadily through cauldron after cauldron.

Harry realized with a frown that McGonagall had been right. He did need this—maybe not specifically—but he needed something to keep him occupied. Already, his headache was receding to a dull throb as he focused on the feel of the cold water and the sound of the bristles scraping over the pewter. It was slightly hypnotizing.

At least Snape wouldn't lock him in a cupboard and deny him food if his work wasn't satisfactory. Harry chuckled darkly as he realized that detention was Snape was actually a far cry from being as unpleasant as life at the Dursleys. At least the git didn't hang around to criticize every minute he was working and hold the threat of a beating over his head should he miss a spot. And the guaranteed time to himself was soothing his raw nerves.

Harry scowled then. 'Am I seriously thinking that _this_ is enjoyable? I'm going to be forced to do enough of this crap when I get back to Little Whinging.' He sighed, plunging a thoroughly scrubbed cauldron into the bucket of clean water. The water splashed back at him, soaking his shirt.

The feeling of hopelessness returned full force. What was he going to do if the Dursleys found out that Sirius was dead? The only thing that had kept him out of the cupboard for the last two years was the threat that his godfather could show up and slaughter them. The threat was the only thing that had kept Vernon from flying off the reservation like he had in previous years and beating Harry until he blacked out.

Suddenly Harrys' stomach heaved, and he retched. There was nothing in his stomach to vomit up, but he couldn't stop shaking as he dry heaved. He was crying again by the time he got his cramping stomach under control.

'Sirius is dead because of me, and I'm worrying about me? I'm a self-absorbed brat.' Harry wiped at his tears with the back of his hand. 'I deserve whatever the Dursleys decide to dish out to me, if all I can worry about is how Sirius being dead affects me.'

Harry forced his attention back to the cauldrons, trying and failing to stop the tears that were running steadily down his face. Only when he firmly told himself that he couldn't bear it if Snape were to find him like this did he manage to reign in his grief.

Still, he couldn't help feel the loss that Sirius would never be there with kind words, or sound advice. And he would never be able to give Harry the home he so longed for.

By the time Snape came back, Harry had managed to clean only half of the initial pile he'd started on. At that point, he had abandoned them for an easier pile in the hopes of resting his aching arms. The front of his shirt was sodden, and he was sweating despite the chill in the dungeon.

"How pleasantly unexpected. It seems we've discovered your natural talent, Mr. Potter. Although, can mindless, menial labor be considered a talent?"

Harry glared at Snape for a minute, before turning his attention back to the cauldron he was currently scrubbing. There was just a little bit of muck left around the outside rim. He could feel Snape watching him as he finished the cauldron with a flourish and rinsed it off in the bucket of clean water. With practiced ease he dried the cauldron thoroughly and set it aside in the growing pile of clean cauldrons before turning his attention to Snape.

The man was carefully examining the clean cauldrons, and apparently could find nothing to criticize because he turned back to Harry with a glare. "You are not yet finished, Mr. Potter."

Harry suppressed a groan and snatched up another cauldron, plunging it into the bucket with a little too much force. The cleaner splashed his already wet shirt. He started scrubbing furiously, his knuckles white from his death grip on the scrub brush. A few minutes later he rinsed the now gleaming cauldron and dried it automatically.

"You are far too efficient at this, Mr. Potter. I suppose all those detentions with Mr. Filch have paid off."

Harry jumped at the voice, having taken the elongated silence as a cue that the professor had once more retreated from the classroom. He lost the grip on the newest defiled cauldron. It hit the floor with a loud clang, and Harry shot Snape a glare before snatching it back up. It was monstrously filthy—if Harry had to hazard a guess he'd say it belonged to one Neville Longbottom.

"Jumpy, aren't we Potter?"

Still, Harry refused to speak. The subtle sound of shifting cloth was enough to let him know that his silence was irritating the permanently irate man. He smirked weakly at the bucket, starting the methodical scrubbing that would eventually remove even the worst grime from the abused pewter in his hands.

When Harry finally finished drying off the cauldron that had resisted every and all attempts to be cleaned his headache came back with a vengeance. He had to squeeze his eyes shut and lean heavily on a desk to wait for the accompanying dizziness to pass.

"I think that will be all for tonight. You will return tomorrow at 1:00. Do not be late. I promise you will not enjoy the consequences if I have to come looking for you again. Is that understood?"

Harry nodded.

"I require a verbal answer, Mr. Potter."

"Yeah." Harry saw the darkening glare and quickly amended his answer. "Yes sir. I understand."

Gloating triumph shone in the dark eyes, and Harry resisted the urge to roll his own. He wasn't to escape the dungeons just yet.

"So. You are capable of showing respect when it suits you. There's hope for you yet. Maybe there is still a chance to reform your stubborn, spoiled ways. But then, I doubt the headmaster would be willing to take the necessary measures for there to be any real hope of recovery. After all, I've been warning him for years that he's too soft on you—just like he was too soft on your no-good father. Quite literally let him get away with attempted murder. But the headmaster has always had his favorites."

Harry bit his lip to keep from snarling at the pompous git. He had to look away from the self-satisfied smirk, biting his lip harder to resist the urge to hex that stupid look off the older man's face. 'He's goading you.' Harry reminded himself. 'He wants you to lose your temper so he can have more reason to torture you. Just ignore him.'

It was proving too difficult a task. Harry tasted blood as he bit down even harder on his lip when the sultry voice washed over him again. "Not going to even try to defend your dear father? But it is hard to argue with the truth, isn't it? Your father was a spoiled, arrogant brat—you're just like him in that regard. At least he was too proud to have pitiful little temper tantrums."

"Is this making you happy?" Harry finally spun to glare at the man. "Do you enjoy this? Kicking me when I'm down—well I got news for you. There's nothing you can say to me that is going to knock me lower." His breath hitched and he wiped angrily at eyes that were dangerously wet, but he forced himself to keep talking. "Will you sleep easy tonight, knowing that James Potter's son is in complete agony and miserable beyond belief? Does it give you peace of mind to know that you got the last laugh and got the chance to pour salt on my wounds? Not sure how you could make it worse, though. I killed my own godfather. It doesn't get worse."

Snape was silent, his eyes getting blacker as Harry met his glare. "Don't be absurd. You are not responsible for Black's death. He was a grown man and made his own decisions. You are a child—a naïve, reckless, arrogant child—but still a child. The world does not revolve around you—it's ridiculous that you think it does. But I suppose it's to be expected. I've warned Dumbledore that it was detrimental, but he continued to spare the rod, and now the child is spoiled."

Harry wanted to scream, but the last sentence crashed through his consciousness like a rhinoceros and left him feeling suddenly cold and hollow. His breath hitched, and suddenly he was right in front of Snape clutching the front of his robes in his hand. "What did you just say?" His voice was barely above a whisper, and he was staring wide eyed at the potions master. He was barely aware of the older man trying to push him away.

"Unhand me, Potter!"

Harry heard him, but didn't comprehend what he said. Instead, he repeated Snape's previous words. "Spare the rod, spoil the child."

Snape paused, brow furrowing as he watched Harry repeatedly mouthing the words. Harry finally realized he was much too close to the older man and relinquished his hold on the mans' robes. He stared unseeingly at his professor a moment before calmly stating "But I'm not spoiled."

Snape's eyebrow rose and he snorted softly. "Keep telling yourself that, Potter. It might eventually come true."

Harry shook his head violently, backing away until is back hit a desk. The pile of cauldrons on top teetered in warning. Harry's eyes were wide.

'Spare the rod, spoil the child.' Why was that so shocking to hear? Harry was fairly certain it was a muggle phrase, one that his Uncle had spouted at him more times than he could count. But it had always been empty words before.

He wrenched his eyes away from Snape, who was still watching him through suspicious, narrowed eyes and straitening his robes. "Spare the rod." He muttered, closing his eyes. His exhausted mind was protesting violently as he tried to process what exactly was making him so agitated about that stupid muggle phrase.

'Spare the rod? But I haven't been spared.' Harry suddenly shivered. 'But that was the point. Wasn't it?' Dumbledore came unbidden to his head.

"_It's for your own good_."

How many times had Harry heard that come out of the Headmasters mouth? Harry pressed the palm of his hands into his eyes, focusing on the words. What was for his own good?

'Spare the rod…' Suddenly, Harry snapped his eyes open and looked at Snape, who was staring at him as if he'd grown an extra head. "I know."

"You know what?" Snape snarled impatiently. "I have no patience for your psychotic ramblings, Potter. If you have something to say just spit it out."

Harry ignored him, and started pacing. It couldn't be true, could it? Dumbledore was the leader of the Light. He was the most revered wizard ever! The most celebrated—the only wizard Voldemort was ever afraid of!

"He wouldn't…" Harry muttered, squeezing his eyes shut against the migraine that was starting to cause the world to tilt. "But he did…"

Dumbledore had flat out refused to remove Harry from the Dursleys. Harry was trembling. But was it because of the blood wards? Wasn't Grimmauld Place just as safe, if not safer if Dumbledore was the secret keeper?

'The prophecy.' Harry suddenly froze in his pacing. He had hardly thought about the prophecy at all. Suddenly it all made sense. Harry barely had time to process before he was retching once again.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

Harry jumped again, looking at Snape with wide eyes. "That bastard."

Whatever Snape was going to say was lost as Harry bolted from the room.

"That bastard!" Harry sprinted through the corridors, taking the steps as fast as he could. He flew up stair after stair, down hallway after hallway until he was gasping and panting for breath. Still he kept going, until he was bursting into the cold air at the top of the astronomy tower.

'Spare the rod, spoil the child.' Harry sat down numbly. He didn't want to believe it, but he couldn't see how it wasn't true. Harry knew he wasn't spoiled. He was far from it. So far from it in fact, that Ronald Weasley seemed spoiled by comparison.

And that was the point.

He was the only one who would be able to defeat Voldemort. He was the prophesized 'Savior' of the wizarding world. He couldn't afford to be spoiled. No. He needed to be tough, able to cope; tolerant of pain and hardship—he needed to be a suitable hero.

And Dumbledore had known that. He had purposefully made sure that Harry would be raised to be the perfect modest, self-sacrificing little savior, hadn't he? _'It's for your own good_.'

Harry leaned heavily against the wall and glared up at the sky. "I think I've been sacrificed for the sake of the greater good." He told the twinkling stars that reminded him only too harshly of the Headmaster.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

The Hogwarts express was bustling with endless chatter, laughter and movement that grated against Harry's already frazzled nerves. He was sporting what was soon becoming a permanent migraine, and glaring out the window of the compartment as the countryside sped by.

"Harry?"

Harry glanced at Hermione before turning his gaze back out the window. "What?"

He could feel the hesitation before she spoke. "Do you need to talk about it?"

Harry turned back to her, and said flatly, "No." He turned back to the window as complete silence fell over the compartment. He knew he was being horrible to his friends. He had hardly said a word to them since that night at the ministry. For the most part, they seemed content to let him stew in silence, and were being incredibly good sports through his ups and downs. He had yet to tell them about the prophecy or his subsequent suspicions that the Headmaster was manipulating his life so despicably. He wasn't sure if he ought to tell them. Not least because the prophecy scared him shitless—he wasn't sure if they'd believe that the wizarding worlds' greatest hero could do something that most people would consider downright dark and evil.

It had taken a while, but Harry had finally admitted that it wasn't right. It wasn't fair, it wasn't decent, and it wasn't right that Dumbledore did this to him. But at the same time, Harry understood why the man was doing it. There was so much more at stake than just the health and happiness of one boy. The fate of the world quite literally rested on his shoulders, and it was very possible that in the long run Dumbledore's actions might prove justified.

But it still made Harry angry. If it had been done to anyone else, Harry might have killed the old man. So why shouldn't it bother him?

It had taken him all week to figure out what he was going to do about it—absolutely nothing. There was nothing he could do. Dumbledore had made sure that there was no one he could go to for help, that no one would believe him if he did. Instead, he had vowed that he would find a way to help himself. If there was one thing the ordeal at the Ministry had shown him it was that he was sorely lacking. It was laugh worthy that he had been so proud of everything he had learned and taught to the DA. They had been no match for the Death Eaters. No match at all. He was still surprised that his friends hadn't been killed.

He had diligently shown up for Snape's detentions, finishing the cauldrons three days earlier that the potions master had intended. After that Snape had broken down and just made Harry write lines. 'I will not stalk, attack, or curse at my professors. I will be respectful.' His hand still hurt from how many times he had written those two sentences.

In between his overbearing detentions, Harry had hidden himself all over the castle—hiding from his worried friends and teachers. He had finally resorted to hiding out with Moaning Myrtle when his other hiding spots got found out. The ghost had been incredibly sympathetic, even when Harry refused to tell her what was bothering him.

At night, he had taken to the library under cover of his invisibility cloak. He was wary of searching through the restricted section without permission, vividly remembering the last time he had done so. But either he was lucky in picking out non-screaming books or the castle itself had listened to his quiet pleas to help him learn what he needed to know to possibly defeat Voldemort. His head was still swimming with newly learned curses, some so dark and nasty that they made him want to vomit. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to stomach the expellevisceri curse—the entrails expulsion curse. He forcefully shook away thoughts of exploding entrails.

Harry knew he was on the brink of a complete breakdown. He would break out in a cold sweat every time he thought of the prophecy, and sometimes spent hours screaming at nothing in particular.

"Harry?" This time it was Luna that spoke.

"What?" Harry turned towards the girl, forcing his flaring temper back down.

"You know that whatever it is that's troubling you, we'll do everything we can to help."

Harry's jaw dropped. Ron, Hermione and Neville had all turned to stare at Luna like she was crazy, but Ginny was staring at him. "I suspected that it wasn't just Sirius' death you were upset about."

Harry shifted uneasily, dropping his gaze to the floor. Leave it to the blonde to be able to see right through him despite all logic.

"Is there something wrong?" This time it was Hermione. She was staring at him with wide, open eyes that clearly stated she would do anything in the world to fix all the wrongs if it were in her power. "Other than Sirius, I mean. I know you're mourning him—but if there's something else—you can tell us anything."

Harry glanced around the compartment, carefully avoiding the expectant gazes of his friends. He couldn't tell them. But at the same time he knew he needed to tell someone—at the very least so he could share the burden. But then, it wasn't fair to burden his friends with something so horrible.

"Harry." Luna was speaking again. "You don't have to tell us. But remember that everyone here would really do anything to help you. After all, we all willingly followed you to the ministry believing that we were going to face down Voldemort in person."

Harry snapped his eyes back to the calm girl who was watching him unflinchingly. "I nearly got you all killed."

"That's not the point, mate." Ron quickly added. "The point is if we didn't run scared from the prospect of You-Know-Who, then there's nothing you can scare us off with."

Neville nodded in agreement, and Hermione flashed Ron a smile. "Ron's right. We're here for the long run."

Harrys resolve completely crumbled, and he couldn't stop the tears from bursting forth. "I don't deserve to have friends like you."

An arm slipped around his shoulders, and Harry couldn't bring himself to look up to see who it belonged too. He took a few deep breaths, hiccoughing slightly. "You see… I—I don't know where to start…"

"Take your time. There's no hurry." Hermione's' voice muttered in his ear as the arm squeezed lightly.

Harry was silent for a long time, trying to figure out where to start. Finally, he blurted out a question that had been burning his conscience for days. "Do you think the end justifies the means?"

There was an awkward silence following his outburst. At length, Hermione tried to answer. "I—I don't know… I mean—I suppose in some cases it could, but at the same time isn't that what sets us apart from Voldemort? Not only are we fighting for what's right, but we're fighting with reservations that the Dark Lord doesn't have, which makes it that much harder to win. But in the end—in the end that's what's going to set us apart. No. I don't think the end justifies the means—not completely."

Harry swallowed, feeling both dread and relief. "I have to kill Voldemort."

This silence was even deeper than before.

"What do you mean?" Neville asked timidly.

"The prophecy." Luna answered quietly. "You found out what it said?"

Harry nodded.

"But I thought it was smashed?"

"That was only a copy of the prophecy. Dumbledore was the one who the prophecy was made to. He showed me his memory." Harry took a deep breath before reciting the words that would forever be committed to his memory. "It says 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.' If I don't kill Voldemort, he's going to kill me."

There was another moment of silence while everyone processed the words. Harry still refused to look up. He waited, hardly daring to breath. There—he had talked about it. He was loath to admit that he did feel a little better. But it was just the beginning. He still wasn't sure he could keep going beyond this.

It was Ron that broke the silence first. "That's why he tried to kill you when you were a baby? Blimey, Harry—I mean…" Whatever it was Ron meant was lost when Ginny kicked him.

"I would understand it if you didn't want to have anything to do with me anymore—I mean… It's dangerous. He's going to keep coming after me, and I have to face him… I'm going to either become a murderer or get murdered—" Harry snapped his mouth shut when Ginny smacked him upside the head.

"Haven't you heard a word we said? There's nothing that's going to scare us off. We're here for you no matter what. Get used to it."

"Is that why you're worried? Because you might have to kill him? Harry, we aren't going to judge you for that." Hermione squeezed his shoulders tightly.

Harry chose not to answer, and instead Luna spoke up again. "That's not all. There's more, isn't there Harry?"

Harry nodded as he slowly turned his shocked gaze back to the blonde. He vaguely noted that everyone was watching him with interest. "How can you tell?"

Luna just shrugged. "It's in your aura, I suppose."

"I see." Harry took a deep breath, trying to settle his racing thoughts so that he wouldn't mince his words. Instead his next statement was horridly blunt, but he couldn't keep himself from blurting it out. "Dumbledore has been purposely having me tortured so that I'll be tough enough to fulfill the prophecy." He regretted saying it immediately, and buried his face in his hands. The silence stretched longer this time. Harry's heart was pounding in his chest, and he waited for the accusations to fly—that he was a liar, that he was a coward—they were going to be so disappointed in him. At least Sirius never had to learn about this.

"Harry?" Hermione tentatively whispered. "I know—it's not that I don't believe you… but—please… you need to explain that."

Harry took a shuddering, gasping breath and his voice broke. "The Dursleys—I told him—but it's for my own good! But I don't think I could take it anymore…" His voice completely failed him and he could no longer hold back the sobs. He pushed away from Hermione, drawing his knees up to his chest and buried his head. "I know I'm a coward—how the hell am I supposed to face Voldemort if I can't even handle my uncle—a muggle!"

"Harry James Potter! You are not a coward!" Harry thought it was rather eerie that Ginny could sound so much like Molly Weasley.

Hermione slowly scooted closer to him and drew him back into her arms. He let her stroke his hair and whisper gentle encouragements that he couldn't make out. He wiped his face angrily on his knees and slowly looked around. Luna's eyes were watery as she stared at him. Neville was chewing his fingernails nervously while his eyes flicked between Harry and the floor. Ron was staring wide-eyed and slack jawed at the opposite wall of the compartment—and Ginny was clenching her fist and muttering under her breath—but she smiled softly when Harry met her gaze.

"I kind of suspected you were being abused." Neville suddenly spoke. "I didn't want to say anything—in case I was wrong—and I was never really certain… but you are always so careful to shower alone—and all the guys tease you because they think you're a prude—but I always thought you were hiding something… and I caught a glimpse of some scars on your back once when you were stretching…" Neville trailed off, blushing as he looked at the floor.

Harry blinked at him. Then, he looked around and caught Hermione throwing a 'told-you-so' look at Ron, who was now staring at his feet, face burning redder than his hair. Ginny's eyes were shining as she spoke up. "Mom thought so too. But when she tried to bring it up to Dumbledore he always changed the subject, or told her she was worrying for nothing—that you were being carefully watched. And she believed him—we all did I think…" Her glance trailed to Ron, who was shaking violently.

"You're sure Dumbledore knows?" Ron asked in a resigned voice as if he already knew the answer.

"I told him everything in my third year—I showed him…" Harry bit his lip nervously. "He said he was disappointed in me for whining, for being a coward when I had to be at the Dursleys. He said it was for my own good."

Hermione was suddenly on her feet, snarling. "That self-serving bastard! I won't let him get away with it! We'll just have to go to someone else! I don't care what it takes."

But Harry was already shaking his head. "I already tried! Don't you see, Hermione? I tried to tell McGonagall—but she thought I was lying! She said Dumbledore had told her I was going to try to pull something to try and get out of going back there because I was so upset about Sirius! She wouldn't even hear me out. She told me that Dumbledore warned the teachers and the Order that I was likely to lie about this!"

Hermione paled considerably, tears making their way down her face. "Oh Harry. I'm so sorry!"

Harry shook his head again, but accepted the hug Hermione gave him. "I've already figured out that there's nothing I can do—yet."

The 'yet' got everyone's attention. Harry reluctantly continued. "I just have to wait until he can't blame it on Sirius' death, don't I? Then what is he going to tell them? There's only so far he can influence everyone before the lies get so outrageous, right?"

This time it was Ron who was on his feet. "That's bull shit! You shouldn't have to wait! Someone has to believe you. Lupin! My Mom and Dad! I'll make them believe you!"

"Yeah!" Ginny agreed. "We won't let this happen."

"I'll curse Dumbledore the next time I see him so the Nargles think his beard is filled with mistletoe." Luna said matter of factly.

Harry couldn't help but smile. "Thanks Luna. I'd really appreciate that." There was another spark of hope in Harrys' chest that refused to burn out. They didn't think he was a coward—they wanted to help him. It was more than he had ever dared hope for.

The train was drawing into London by this point. Harry sighed, pulling off his robes and shoving them in his trunk. He already had his muggle clothes on underneath.

"Hey mate?"

Harry turned to Ron, who was still fidgeting and looking at the floor.

"I'm sorry—I should have noticed—but I kept clowning you with Seamus and Dean… I didn't even think about it."

Harry patted him on the back awkwardly. "Don't worry about it. I was really good at hiding it."

Hermione was frowning, and fidgeting nervously. "Oh! I'm never going to forgive him for this! I'm going to do so much worse that curse him with Nargles. Just wait."

Ron smiled mischievously. "Bat-bogey hex?"

Hermione shook her head, and gave the closest thing Harry had ever seen to an evil grin. "No. Even better. I'm going to curse all his beloved socks to eat his feet."

This caused a rousing chorus of laughter that barely dwindled down by the time the train was coming to a stop.

The minute he was off the train, Harry was face-to-face with Mad-Eye Moody. He didn't even have time to say hello before Moody shrunk his trunk with a wave of his wand and shoved it at Harry. "Put that in your pocket. When you're ready to unshrink it the password is 'Vigilance.' Come on Potter. Don't dawdle. We have to get you to your relatives and out of here. It's not safe. Too open."

Harry sputtered as Moody's claw like hand grabbed his arm and dragged him away from his friends. In her cage, Hedwig squawked indignantly at their fast pace. He heard Ron and Hermione shouting after him, but couldn't make out what was said. "I want to say goodbye!"

"No time for that! Dumbledore got information that there might be an attempt made to snatch you today. We have to get you out of here as soon as possible."

Harry didn't have time to respond before Moody was dragging him through the barrier.

"Lupin wanted me to give this to you. He couldn't make it today—had other business to attend to." Moody growled, shoving a small package into Harry's hand. Harry shoved it in his pocket with his trunk and frowned. They were drawing a lot of attention with Hedwig voicing her objections and Moody growling at anyone that came to close.

"Boy! Get over here!" Harry winced at Vernon's harsh voice. Moody nodded, muttering to himself. "Could have used a hell of a lot more  
backup."

Harry had a sinking feeling that Dumbledore had made sure he would be unable to talk to anyone before he was sent off with his Aunt and Uncle. Dudley was hanging back as Moody approached, nearly thrusting Harry forward into Vernon's arms. Vernon made no move to catch him when he stumbled.

"Get him out of here quick, Dursley. Dumbledore already briefed you."

Vernon glared, but otherwise followed the order. He grabbed Harry's arm in turn, dragging him along as he motioned Petunia and Dudley back to the car. "Let's go."

Harry remained silent as he climbed into the backseat, his heart pounding violently with rage and panic as he realized that Dumbledore had anticipated his friends' reactions. They had been outsmarted.

"Bloody freaks—ordering me around…" Uncle Vernon was muttering angrily as he started the car. There was very little traffic for this time of evening, and they made quick time away from Kings Cross station.

Dudley was fidgeting uncomfortably next to Harry, but pointedly stopped looking at him when Harry glared coldly at him. His cousin had lost even more weight, and the muscles in his arms bulged in all the right places to make Harry vow not to be on the receiving end of one of Dudley's right hooks. Petunia was staring ahead, and continued to ignore Harry, which suited him fine. He took the opportunity to fish Lupin's package out of his pocket.

It was a long, narrow box and in it was an ebony wand and a short note.

_Harry,_

_This was Sirius' wand. I picked it up at the Ministry, and wasn't sure what to do with it. I thought you might like to have it. Take care of yourself, and I'll see you soon. Don't let the muggles get you down._

_Remus._

_PS. Don't beat yourself up. It's not your fault._

Harry blinked back tears, running his fingers over the dark polished wood. He caught Dudley covertly trying to sneak a peek into the box and quickly shoved it out of sight. When Dudley wasn't looking, he slipped the wand into his boot. It couldn't hurt to have an extra.

Harry felt calm for the first time since the Ministry. Remus didn't blame him. He smiled slightly. He had even entrusted him with Sirius' wand. Harry couldn't help but feel close to his godfather as he felt the wand pressed against his ankle.

"Greggory's is having a sale!" Dudley suddenly shouted, causing Harry to jump. He noted with satisfaction that both his aunt and uncle were just as startled. "We have to stop! Please! It says one day only!"

Vernon glanced at his wife, and said, "I don't think that's a good idea today Dudders. We have to get home." He shot Harry a nasty look through the rearview mirror.

"Please! They have the coolest video games!"

And just like that, Vernon caved. "It will have to be a quick stop. But I guess you earned it, what with winning the championship. You deserve a treat." Petunia nodded approvingly, turning to glare at Harry as if daring him to contradict them.

But Harry wasn't going to complain. The way he saw it, the longer they were out in public the better. Harry was in no hurry to return to Privet Drive, and at least Vernon pretended to treat Harry decently when they were in public.

Two minutes later, they were parked in front of the electronics store and Harry was ordered to 'wait in the car.' He sighed in relief the minute they were out of sight. He leaned his head against the window and allowed his eyes to drop closed. It was going to be a long summer.

The next second Harry found himself sprawled on the ground as the door he was leaning on sprang open of its' own accord. A wheezy giggle sounded above him and he felt the tell-tale point of a wand press into the back of his neck.

"Not too smart, are these muggles?"

Harry didn't fight as he was hauled to his feet and his wand was removed from his pocket. He didn't even get a chance to breathe before a hand closed around his arm and he felt like he was being squeezed on all sides and engulfed in darkness. Almost as soon as it started it was over, and Harry stumbled as he found himself facing big, black iron gates with a large, ornate 'M' wrought in them.

"I got him! I got him! Incarcerous!" Ropes appeared out of nowhere and wrapped Harry tightly, biting into his arms and legs and sending him crashing to the ground. He cursed loudly as he heard a responding giggle from the other side of the gate.

"Good! He's going to be so pleased with us! We'll be in the inner circle in no time."

It hit Harry then that he had just been captured by Death Eaters, and he started to struggle fruitlessly against his bonds.

"Little late for that? Isn't it? I don't see why the Dark Lord is worried about a little thing like you? You're far too docile to be much of a threat."

"Fuck you!" Harry spat at the boots that came to rest in his line of sight. One of said boots caught him in the mouth.

"That's more like it."

Huge arms lifted him bodily off the ground, and the gates creaked open. Harry tried kicking out as he was hoisted over a large shoulder and carried across the threshold. His scar wasn't burning so he didn't think Voldemort was around—yet.

"Well, if it isn't itty bitty baby Potter, come to play some more."

"You!" Harry started thrashing in earnest, cursing violently as he was carried into a pair of double doors and he locked onto the lidded gaze of Bellatrix Lestrange. "I'll kill you!"

The all too familiar crazed grin lit up the woman's face. "Will you now? You seem to be a little tied up, don't you think?" Her eyes sparkled with mirth. "Our Lord will be very pleased."

Harry opened his mouth but after a quick jab of her wand he found himself unable to speak. He shouted soundlessly as he was unexpectedly tossed down on the marble floor. He finally got a look at his remaining captors. There was a man and woman that looked so similar they had to be related. They both were leering down at him with lopsided smirks and bright hunger in their eyes. The woman's smile widened as she lifted her sleeve up, revealing the ugly brand that marked her as one of Voldemort's loyal followers.

"You can go ahead and call our Lord, if you want to die." Bellatrix started, also walking into Harry's line of sight. Her dark eyes never left Harry. "Yes, he will be pleased that we have captured Potter, but he gave us specific instructions not to interrupt him."

Harry refused to look away from Bellatrix's glare as her eyes started shining brightly. "But by all means, call him if you must. It's better to find out early that the Dark Lord does not suffer disobedience—for any reason."

"We should probably listen to her, Alecto." The man wheezed, pulling the woman's sleeve down. She pouted at him a bit, but turned back to look at Harry.

"The Dark Lord rewards those followers that earn his favor. Rest assured he'll give you ample reward for your eagerness to please him." Bellatrix suddenly dropped so she was kneeling next to Harry, who glared up at her and silently cursed her.

"What's the matter? Is itty bitty baby Potter tongue tied?" She furrowed her brow in mock concern, but her face soon split back into her crazed grin. "Crucio!"

Harry started writhing as the pain radiated his entire body—stabbing, slicing, biting and burning all at once. He still couldn't make a sound, but his silent screams tore at his throat all the same.

After what seemed like an eternity, the pain suddenly stopped. Harry was left trembling and sobbing quietly.

"Did you like that Potter? I certainly did."

Harry collected himself enough to spit blood from his bitten tongue right into Bellatrix's smirking face. Her smirk disappeared and was replaced by blind rage.

"You'll pay for that—and every slight you've ever made against me. The Dark Lord needs you alive. He never said he needed you coherent."

Harry shuddered at the threat, as he was hit with the cruciatus curse again.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Draco was a bundle of nerves as he left the train. Things had been tense among his fellow housemates since the disastrous events at the Ministry. He was sick and tired of having people laugh in his face every time he walked into a room. He was not looking forward to being home without his father, and was incredibly nervous about meeting his aunt for the first time.

He walked away from Crabbe and Goyle without a word when he spotted his mother in the crowd. Her smile was strained, and he had to fight the urge to run to her like he had when he was a young child.

"Draco." She nodded at him when he was within hearing range.

"Mother." Draco took in the bags under her eyes and frowned. He knew better than to ask in public. "You are doing well?"

"Quite. Are you ready to go? Where is your luggage? We have to make a stop before we return home."

"My luggage is shrunk for now." He followed his mother as she turned to leave. They calmly waded through the crowd. Draco noticed with some amusement that Granger and Weasley were calling desperately after Potter—who was quite literally being dragged through the barrier by that insane ex-auror with the creepy eye. He watched closely as Granger and Weasley started whispering hurriedly to the other ragtag members of their group. They all exchanged worried looks as they caught sight of the rest of the Weasley brood.

"Mother, have I ever thanked you for being an only child?" Draco drawled slowly. His mother followed his gaze and quickly schooled her smirk.

"Now Draco. Don't be rude."

Draco tore his eyes away from the disgusting display that was the Weasley reunion and took his mothers' arm as they crossed the barrier. He let her set their brisk pace as they quickly left Kings Cross.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked after they had walked quite a ways through muggle London.

"I figured we could have a bite to eat and catch up before we head back to the manor." Narcissa replied casually, though Draco caught the hidden meaning. His mother only ever took him out in muggle London when they had something important to discuss that couldn't be discussed at home. He frowned for a minute, wondering why when his father was currently in a cell in Azkaban but didn't question her. He knew better than to be impatient.

Before long, they were settled at a chic little coffee shop that Draco was rather fond of. As much as he disliked muggles, he was rather fond of the overpriced coffee drinks that catered lovingly to his sweet tooth. He sipped his caramel latte and savored the flavor with a sigh. His father would never allow him to enjoy such a treat at home. He was so caught up in his drink he almost missed when his mother quietly muttered a spell that would ensure their privacy.

"We need to talk."

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but couldn't bite back his sarcastic remark. "Apparently." He winced when her eyes flashed dangerously, but she let it slide.

"The Ministry performed a raid on the manor last week, as I'm sure you already knew." She began slowly. Draco nodded and she continued. "They found several _embarrassing_ objects, but otherwise were rather unsuccessful."

"That's the first good news I've heard in ages." Draco muttered, casting a glare around the small café.

Narcissa nodded, seeming to search for words as she took a slow sip of her chai tea. "Your Aunt Bellatrix is staying at the manor—as well as a couple of new recruits. The Carrows—I believe you met them at one of your father's parties."

Draco nodded again, feeling the nervousness drop in his stomach again like a cold stone. "Brother and sister—completely insane. I remember."

Narcissa nodded. "I want you to tread very carefully around Bella. Her time in Azkaban has changed her. She's more than a little unhinged. Also, the Dark Lord has chosen to take up residence with us upon his return. He is currently abroad."

Only years of practice in manners and etiquette prevented Draco from spewing coffee all over his mother. Instead, he cautiously dabbed his mouth with a napkin before taking a deep breath and forcing his voice to remain even. "Isn't that a little reckless. The Ministry is going to be breathing down our necks as it is."

Narcissa nodded, and Draco finally noticed her hands shaking around her coffee. He reached out across the table and patted her awkwardly.

"Your father offered before that unfortunate episode at the Ministry. The Dark Lord saw no reason to change his plans despite—what happened."

Draco frowned, but didn't say anything. He didn't dare mention the unadulterated fear that sprang up in his chest at the prospect of playing host for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

"There is only one more issue we need to discuss." Narcissa breathed out. "When we get home, you are to go straight to your room and stay there until you are called down to dinner. Your Aunt has some business she is going to be taking care of, and I don't want you anywhere near it while it is in progress. Am I understood?"

Draco's eyes widened. "Yes Mother." It was rare that his mother issued him a direct order, and she only did so in the direst of circumstances. He took another deep breath and remained silent as they finished their drinks. Then, he once again took his mother's arm as they left the coffee shop and slipped into a deserted alley to apparate.

A house elf approached them as soon as they were inside the gates. It was wringing its hands and staring at its' feet.

"Mistress Bella has asked Sophi to ask Mistress Narcissa and Master Draco to please excuse her, but she is currently using the foyer for business. She is asking Sophi to ask Mistress and Master to please use the kitchen door, because she is not wanting to offend Mistress and Masters' sensibility."

Draco noticed his mother pale, but didn't say anything as she said. "Very well Sophi. You are excused."

"What sort of business?" Draco couldn't stop the question as his mother immediately turned away from the main path and took a winding side path that would take them through the rose garden and into the kitchen. She tightened her grip on his arm.

"It is the Dark Lords' business. Don't concern yourself with it."

Draco swallowed harshly over the lump that appeared in his throat and didn't argue. They quickly made their way into the kitchen, ignoring the three house elves that rushed forward to see if they needed anything.

His mother disengaged from his arm in the dining room. "Straight to your room. You will not take any detours, and you will not leave until it is time for dinner. If you need anything, call a house elf."

"Yes Mother." Draco replied, leaving his mother standing in the dining room and staring fearfully at the door that lead to the foyer. Draco's breath hitched as he heard high pitched laughter coming from the front of the house and very distinctly heard the shouted 'Crucio' in a woman's voice. Then, he briskly walked in the opposite direction and slipped up the stairs that were hidden behind a tapestry. The second floor was dead silent, though Draco still fancied that he could hear hints of whatever was happening in the foyer. There had been no screaming—that was odd. He thought the cruciatus curse was supposed to cause utmost agony.

'Maybe they're under a silencing spell.' Draco thought dully. He was standing frozen in the hallway leading to his room, and shook himself slightly to try and dispel his trembling. He _must not_ act like a delicate, scared little child when he met his Aunt Bella. He had to uphold the Malfoy name.

Draco let a sigh escape his lips when he was in the sanctuary of his room. The familiar green and silver décor was comforting, and he immediately withdrew his trunk from his pocket and unshrunk it. He left it lying in the middle of the floor and threw himself on his bed. It was going to be a long summer.

Draco didn't even realize he had fallen asleep until he was being shaken awake by a trembling house elf. "Mistress sent Dippy to fetch Master Draco and tell him that dinner is in ten minutes."

Draco sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Alright. Thank You."

The house elf bowed, before disappearing with a pop.

Draco stretched as he stood up. A glance in the mirror showed his clothes wrinkled and his hair disheveled. He quickly changed and muttered a spell to deal with his hair before heading back down to the dining room.

His mother was already seated at the right hand of the head of the table. She was still alone, and upon her look he took his usual seat across from her.

A few minutes of excruciating silence later, they both jumped as the door burst open. Draco rose to greet his aunt.

"Let me see you."

Draco slowly approached the ragged woman, forcing himself to keep the disdain off his face. Her hair was matted, and flying all over the place—her robes were covered in dust and what looked like blood. There was another smear of blood on her face, and underneath her heavy eyelids there was a gleam that Draco instantly recognized as complete and utter madness.

"It is a pleasure to meet you." Draco told her politely. She smiled at him, showing crooked, stained teeth.

"You look just like your father." Bellatrix's smile faded slightly, but returned full force and her eyes widened. "But we don't need to talk about that fool right now!"

Draco felt his jaw drop minutely, but if his Aunt noticed the rude gesture she gave no sign of it. Instead, she ushered him to his seat and threw herself rather unceremoniously into the seat at the head of the table, throwing one leg over the arm and calling out loudly. "Hey elf! I need something to drink!"

An elf appeared at her side, twitching slightly under her gaze. "What would Mistress like to drink?"

Bella thought for a minute, before smiling. "A bottle of firewhiskey—with glasses for everyone. This is a celebration, after all." She giggled mischievously and winked at Draco. "Better make it two bottles, actually. We have a lot to celebrate."

The house elf disappeared with a pop, and was back a moment later with two bottles of firewhiskey and three glasses. Bellatrix snatched the tray away and started pouring generous helpings into the glasses and sliding them down the table. Draco caught his glass and silently stared at the deep amber liquid while the last glass was passed to his mother.

"To the Dark Lord!" Bellatrix said loudly, raising her glass high in the air before downing the drink. She glared at Draco, who glanced at his mother. She nodded slightly, and flicked her eyes at her sister before returning her gaze to the top of the now scratched table. They both silently drained their glasses. Draco coughed a bit as the liquid burned its' way to his stomach.

Narcissa cleared her throat, looking at her sister. "Bella. You have blood on your face."

Bellatrix's smile grew, as she felt along her cheek. "So I do. Thank you Cissy."

Draco almost gagged when the woman licked the blood off her fingers, and quickly averted his gaze to the ceiling. The food appeared on the table at that moment, but Draco made no move to start eating. Neither did his mother, and Bellatrix didn't seem to notice the food at all.

"So Draco. You go to school with Potter right?"

Draco noticed his mother tense slightly, and turned to his aunt. "Yes. We're in the same year."

Bellatrix nodded, pulling out her wand and wordlessly sending the bottle around again. She ignored Narcissa's feeble attempt to turn down the refill and quickly drained her own glass again, before pouring another for herself. She sat back in her chair and slowly circled the contents of her glass as she fixed Draco with her stare.

"So, Draco. If you go to school with Potter, how is it we have never heard about Potters' rather pitiful home life?"

Draco arched an eyebrow. "I'm certain Potter is spoiled rotten. After all, he is the bloody _boy-who-lived_." Draco took a sip, trying his best not to grimace. He was already feeling a little light-headed.

Bellatrix giggled, and sat up. "Potters memories tell a much different story. Did you know, the boy is deathly afraid of cupboards? Seems the muggles he lives with would lock him in for _days_ on end." Her smirk widened. "And such dreadful beatings. I wondered that he was still conscious—but I suppose he's used to the pain."

All of Draco's carefully ingrained lessons took a flying leap out the window and he spat out a mouthful of the foul beverage all over his aunt. She didn't seem to notice. "You have Potter? Here!?"

Bellatrix giggled again. "Yes. A most excellent present for the Dark Lord, don't you think? And he is turning out to be most excellent sport."

Narcissa roughly stood up. "I asked you to leave my son out of this scheme of yours!"

"Now, Cissy. I was just trying to start a conversation with my nephew. After all, I haven't seen him since he was a baby. The only thing I know we have in common is our familiarity with a certain boy-who-lived-to-annoy-the-Dark-Lord."

Draco watched his mother cower under the suddenly cold voice of her sister, and felt his anger rise. Bellatrix suddenly turned back to him and leaned so close to him he could feel her breath on his face.

"So you really had no clue that Potter is starved, beaten, and worked half to death by his muggles?"

Draco shook his head, trying to be subtle as he leaned away from his aunt. She leaned back again, downing her third glass and suddenly heaving the crystal goblet across the room. Draco winced as it shattered.

"It really is amusing, poking around in Potters mind." Bellatrix mumbled, kicking her leg about and twiddling her thumbs as she looked up at the ceiling. Suddenly she sat up with a wicked grin. "He has some very interesting secrets." She turned her grin to Narcissa, who forced a smile as Bellatrix started cackling.

"Did you know Potter is—now what did they used to call that when we were in school?" She frowned, grabbing up a turkey leg with her hand and taking a big bite. When she spoke, she spewed food everywhere. "I remember! Hot for teacher! Did you know silly little Potter suffers from quite the infatuation for a certain potions professor?" She started laughing again. "He has some really _vivid_ dreams—tell me Draco darling—are all teenage boys such perverts?"

Draco fidgeted uncomfortably as some of his own wet dreams flashed through his mind. He felt himself flush and Bellatrix started laughing again. "Of course you are. What am I thinking? Boys will be boys—it's not your fault you are condemned to think with your prick. That's just a curse of being male."

"Bella! Do not speak of such things to my son!" Narcissa snapped. "This is entirely inappropriate conversation for the dinner table."

Bellatrix ignored her sister. "I left him to Alecto and Amycus for the moment. After all—they are in desperate need of practice."

Draco suddenly found himself on his feet, his fist clenched at his sides. It was probably false courage from the alcohol that gave him the guts to sneer at the still cackling woman in _his fathers_' seat. "Are you mad? My father is in Azkaban and the Ministry goons were rendering our home just days ago—days! What do you think will happen when they come back? Do you even care what would happen to us if they caught you here? Or if they ever traced Potter back to our home?"

"Draco!" His mother was on her feet, glaring at him but he could see the fear behind her anger. "Do not talk back to your Aunt. You are being incredibly rude. Go to your room."

Bellatrix stood up, and quickly had a hand clenched tightly around the collar of Draco's robe. "No Cissy. I want to hear what my _dear nephew_ has to say."

Draco gulped as he felt a wand drag slowly down his cheek.

"One could doubt your loyalty to the Dark Lord with comments like that." Bellatrix whispered, her eyes crossing slightly as she shuddered. "You should know better than to slight the Dark Lord, Draco. It would be—_unpleasant_—if he ever found out."

Draco didn't respond, and just as suddenly as she had appeared in his face, she pranced back to the door. "So come, young one! It is still far too early for bed!"

Draco stood frozen as Bellatrix opened the door to the foyer. She looked at him expectantly when he didn't move. "You will obey your aunty, Draco."

Narcissa turned her back on her sister, and Draco was startled to see tears on his mothers' face. "You heard your aunt. Do as she says."

Draco nodded, slowly following his aunt as she danced her way down the narrow hallway, singing loudly. "We've got Potter! We've got Potter!"

Whatever Draco was expecting when he entered the foyer he wasn't sure. He knew he wasn't expecting the wave of nausea that assaulted him when he saw his archrival lying motionless on the floor. The Carrows were laughing loudly as they hovered over the boy with a dagger, and the sharp smell of blood made Draco gag.

Bellatrix rushed over to the trio in excitement. "Excellent. I love the smell of blood in the early evening. There's just something classy about torture the muggle way. Bravo." Her smile suddenly faltered. "But we mustn't go overboard. We can't have the boy bleeding to death before the Dark Lord returns." A quick wave of her wand closed up the wounds.

"Draco darling! What are you doing, standing way over there!? Come closer, pet." Bellatrix smiled sweetly, and Draco steeled himself as he shuffled forward.

Potter was staring blankly at the wall to his right, though his green eyes flickered toward Draco as he approached. Draco couldn't quite stop the gasp from escaping his throat. He had been so sure that the unmoving figure was unconscious. There was blood bubbling in the corners of his mouth, and his glasses were nowhere in sight. Draco had to fight down the bile rising in his throat. He couldn't watch this.

"Don't be shy." Bellatrix urged. "Potter, I'm sure you remember my nephew Draco. You go to school with him."

Draco watched in horror as Potter's eyes flicked towards his aunt, who was leaning over him. He mouthed a soundless curse before thrashing forward desperately and slamming his head into Bellatrix's smirking face.

Bellatrix howled in pain as she jumped to her feet. Blood was pouring from her nose. Potter smirked triumphantly before his entire body contorted and he howled in silent agony as both the Carrows shouted out the cruciatus curse at the same time.

Draco couldn't keep his composure. He spun around and made it three steps before he doubled over and vomited.

When he turned back around, all three tormentors were watching him intently and Potter was panting heavily but obviously free of the curse for the moment.

"You are far too soft, Draco." Bellatrix purred after fixing her nose with a flick of her wand. "One would think you were unfamiliar with the Dark Lords' methods."

Draco cowered as his aunt approached him. "Don't look at me like that boy! If the Dark Lord ever saw you looking like a frightened kitten he'd kill you to put you out of your misery. He has no use for timid little boys, and neither do I! You will toughen up, or so help me I will see to it you will never shame this family again. Do you understand!?"

Draco nodded, but didn't trust himself to speak.

"Excellent. Then pull up a chair and enjoy the show."

Draco did as he was told, careful not to look Potter in the eyes. Instead, he focused on his chest—watching the fast way it rose and fell as he still silently gasped for breath.

"I think it would be beneficial if we got the full effects of our little session, don't you Potter? After all, hearing you scream like a little girl will make me smile. And my dear nephew is in desperate need of a little immersion to the lifestyle."

Draco winced when the silencing spell was lifted and he heard Potters ragged breaths. His rival wasted absolutely no time in making full use of his voice.

"Psychotic bitch!"

"Crucio!"

Draco jumped out of his skin when Potter started screaming. He only knew one thing while he was watching Potter writhing on the ground and howling his agony out in the most primal of ways. He would never be a Death Eater. All his talk at school, all the times he had bragged about how he was going to follow in his fathers' footsteps—it was all a big fat lie. He knew in that moment as he was forced to watch his supposed worst enemy succumb to the torture that he had never really wished this on the boy. He had never hated Potter _this much_.

Draco forced himself to watch as Potters' eyes flashed in defiance over and over again, only to watch that brave defiance slowly give way to pleading and screaming as he was tortured again and again. But the whole while, Draco was wondering how hard it would be to walk away from his family and the only life he had ever known—while finally admitting that the enmity he felt towards Potter was really nothing more than a schoolboy's grudge.

It was drawing close to dawn before Bellatrix decided it was time for bed. Draco had never sat through a longer night in his life. Amycus suggested that they lock Potter in a cupboard for safe keeping—and Draco was disgusted at the absolute glee that passed over his aunts' face as she magically threw the boy into a broom cupboard and locked the door.

Draco trudged numbly up to his room. His mother was waiting for him, and slowly approached him as he closed the door. He sank into her embrace and broke down crying like he hadn't since he was six years old and his dog had died.


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Harry passed in and out of consciousness in the dark, at some point realizing that he was in a small cramped space.

'They've already thrown me back in the cupboard.' Harry thought dully. His body ached, and he was having trouble piecing the last hours back together. He kept getting snippets of memory that didn't fit. Malfoy flashed into his head, looking scared and pale—what was Malfoy doing at Privet Drive?

His aunt ought to be coming to get him up soon to make breakfast—it was too late to let him out to use the loo. Harry knew that this should have bothered him more, but it certainly wasn't the first time he had been locked in his cupboard for much too long.

But something wasn't right. His cupboard smelled different—and it was too small. He couldn't stretch out all the way. In fact, he couldn't move at all.

Harry blinked rapidly and tried again to move his aching limbs. He couldn't—thick ropes were wrapped tightly around his arms and legs. That was weird. Uncle Vernon had never tied him up before.

Harry gasped loudly as a wave of pain shot through his entire body, spreading outward from his spine until he was trembling violently. His breathing came in gasps as the pain continued, seeming to coarse through his blood. It was gone as soon as it had come, leaving Harry shaking and sobbing.

"What the hell is going on?" Harry asked quietly. Everything was quiet—too quiet. That wasn't normal either. Even when everyone was asleep, there were noises. Uncle Vernon's snoring alone was legendary. It could supposedly be heard two blocks over and scared little children.

Harry almost started shouting, but thought better of it. He would only get into more trouble than he was already in if he woke his uncle up. Instead, he tried to curl up and go back to sleep.

He startled back awake when the door opened and light streamed into the small space. The apology was out of his mouth before he could stop it. "I'm sorry Uncle Vernon. I didn't mean to sleep late. I'll have breakfast ready in no time."

Uncle Vernon didn't respond, and Harry shuddered as the tickle of a spell ghosted over him and the mess he had made over himself disappeared. He furrowed his eyebrows. That didn't make any sense at all. Since when could Uncle Vernon do magic?

A figure much smaller than Uncle Vernon was silhouetted against the light and a soft feminine voice started muttering. "I told Bella not to do this here. Draco has been exposed to enough through his father. He doesn't need to witness this."

'Draco? Malfoy?'

Harry's brain finally caught up with him and he started struggling in earnest, preparing to yell, scream, bite—whatever he could do to keep his head planted firmly between his shoulders.

"Hush boy! Don't fret. I'm not going to hurt you."

The voice was gentle, but there was an underlying hostility that set Harry's teeth on edge. His throat was raw and dry, but he managed to cough out a few words. "Why the hell should I believe you?"

The figure crouched down and slowly inched her way into the cupboard. She had her wand trained on him, and Harry jumped when she waved it. A second later she was gripping the back of his head and tipping a glass to his lips. He sputtered as the cold water hit his parched throat but drank it down greedily.

"I have a potion I can give you, if you want it. It will dull the pain, but it will also dull your senses. It's up to you whether you take it or not."

Harry blinked at the figure he now recognized as Narcissa Malfoy.

"Answer me quickly. I don't have much time."

Harry gaped at her and finally spit out. "Why?"

The woman fidgeted nervously, sticking her head back out the cupboard and checking that the coast was clear before quietly whispering. "I am a mother. No mother can stand to know that a child is going through something like this—regardless of whether that child is the boy-who-lived."

"So you offer to give me a potion? I'm touched."

Narcissa growled. "Stupid boy. There isn't much else I could offer you without risking my son—I doubt I need to explain that bit of maternal protectiveness to you."

Harry shook his head. "Keep your potion."

Narcissa didn't reply, instead tipping a little more water into his mouth before quickly retreating from the cupboard. Harry heard the door lock again and closed his eyes against the oppressive darkness.

'I need to keep my head.' He told himself firmly as he felt the panic rising in his chest. He needed to stay calm, and assess the situation. A little part of him demanded, 'and then what?'

Harry ignored the little skeptical voice and slowly started taking stock of what he knew. Where was he? In a cupboard—that was brilliant—probably at Malfoy Manor. That was a start. How had he gotten there? He had been snatched up by that horrible, wheezing man from the parking lot. Was he hurt?

That question was a lot harder to answer than it should have been. He did hurt—all over. But he was having trouble figuring out what was causing the pain—and it wasn't so bad all the time. It was coming and going, sometimes only a dull throbbing and sometimes reaching violent tremors that left him gasping and sobbing and unable to form a coherent thought.

Harry gave himself the diagnosis that it was all in his head. He told himself that it wasn't real—it was just phantom pain from the cruciatus curse. He had no clue whether or not the cruciatus curse did actual, physical damage but he didn't want to think about that just yet.

He tried to move again, but the ropes were entirely too tight.

The all too familiar feeling of hopelessness came crashing down on Harry. He was tied up in a cupboard awaiting the return of Bellatrix Lestrange—who by the way was the most insane person he had ever met—who was killing the time until Voldemort returned by trying to torture him into madness. He didn't see a way out—he wasn't even sure if his friends knew that he was missing from the Dursleys. Who knew if the Dursleys had even told anyone that he was gone? Did they even know how to get in contact with the Order? Had he even been gone long enough for the Dursleys to discover that he was missing? Harry wasn't sure. It felt like it had been days, if not weeks. But for all he knew he'd only been there an hour.

He didn't remember much about what had happened since Bellatrix had started on him. He barely remembered a respite from the pain that came only when she was busy plundering his mind. Through his panic he felt his cheeks flushing as he remembered that she had dredged up certain dreams he had been having about Snape—rather vivid dreams that involved him and his professor and a desk during late night detentions. Then there were the memories of his childhood—of the Dursleys and all the hell they'd put him through.

Footsteps brought his reverie crashing to a standstill, and he tensed up as someone came to a halt right outside the cupboard door. The door was flung open, the sudden influx of light making his eyes water.

"Rise and shine, Potter! We have a busy day ahead of us."

Harry groaned as Bellatrix levitated him out of the cupboard and dropped him heavily on the marble floor he was becoming increasingly familiar with.

"Ahh… Isn't itty bitty baby Potter happy to see me?"

"As happy as if you were the bloody plague." Harry muttered, mustering his best glare. She was staring down at him, but her smirk had given way to a rather curious expression.

"You're going to be a hard one to break." The smile reemerged on her face, slowly morphing into a feral grin. "By this point Frank Longbottom was reduced to a blubbering idiot who kept calling out for his _mummy_. His wife was even worse—seemed to think she was a parrot."

Before Harry could reply, Bellatrix had flicked her wand and the ropes fell away. "You're going to have to walk now, Potter. Imperio."

Harry sighed as the sublime feeling stole over him—he felt completely calm. Then, the voice came telling him to walk.

He didn't. Instead, he roared and leapt at the surprised woman, knocking her to the ground and scrabbling at her wand. He succeeded in knocking it away and instead wrapped his fingers around her throat. A feeling of immense satisfaction stole over him as he watched her eyes widen as she tried unsuccessfully to pry his hands away. He was finally going to get revenge for Sirius.

"Impedimenta!"

"No!" Harry screamed as he was knocked backwards, landing hard on his back. One of the Carrows was back, though he was having a hard time distinguishing which one it was at a distance. He scrambled to his feet and leapt aside as a stunning curse flew at him. He tried to make a run for it.

A trip jinx caught him and sent him sprawling. Bellatrix was on him in a flash.

"Clever, Potter. Should have known the imperious curse wouldn't work on you. That would be too easy." Harry was pleased to notice that there was no humor in the woman's voice and the hand pressing the wand into his back was shaking. He had scared her.

"Jealous?"

Harry never knew whether or not she was because the next second he was blinded by white hot pain. He was sobbing again by the time it stopped and there was fresh blood flooding his mouth.

"You shouldn't gloat Potter."

It was either hours or days later—Harry couldn't tell. He was back in the cupboard. His wrists were bound mercilessly tight behind his back but he was otherwise free to squirm and kick at the unyielding door. Not that he tried. No—his intention was _not_ to draw attention to himself.

'My name is Harry—Harry Potter. My mother was Lily and my father was James. I go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am fifteen years old. My favorite color is blue. I have to kill Voldemort. I want to kill Bellatrix Lestrange.' Harry had been repeating some form of that mantra in his head over and over again. The pain kept getting worse—the violent tremors happening almost more often than not.

He felt his eyes drifting closed and shook himself violently. The last time he had dozed off he had woken up thinking he was locked in his cupboard at the Dursleys—and had though Narcissa Malfoy was his Uncle Vernon. He would not allow himself to lose his grip on reality.

"My name is Harry…" his voice was completely gone, so he wasn't afraid of drawing attention by speaking out loud. "I am fifteen years old. I like the color blue… My mother was Lily. My father was James. I am going to kill Bellatrix Lestrange."

He jumped out of his skin when the door to the cupboard clicked open, gritting his teeth against the expected pain. One of the tremors started wracking his body again, and he couldn't stop the sob that tore from his throat.

A cleaning spell washed over him once again, and Harry sighed in relief. "You again." He wasn't sure if she could hear him.

"You're coherent!?" The gentle voice of Narcissa Malfoy quickly hushed again. "By Merlin, how do you stand it?"

Harry shuddered. "I don't."

Narcissa chose not to answer, and once again lifted his head to help him sip water. "I still have that potion."

Harry shook his head weakly, accepting more water. "I'd rather feel the pain and be able to think clearly."

"You won't be able to think clearly for very much longer." Narcissa pointed out.

Harry shrugged, shaking his head again when his eyes threatened to slip closed. He looked at the trembling woman, and his gaze turned cold. "I should warn you. If I get a chance, I'm going to kill her."

Narcissa was silent for a minute. "I know." She quickly retreated from the cupboard and Harry was once again plunged into darkness.

'Empty threats!' Harry thought angrily. He couldn't very well take on three hardened Death Eaters with his bare hands. 'Because it went _so_ well the last time I tried.'

To keep himself occupied, Harry turned his attention to trying to untie the rope around his wrists—only to find it didn't have any knots. He'd need a wand to get it off—unless the blasted thing could be cut off—but he doubted that.

'A wand…' Harry went suddenly rigid, as if his sudden realization would draw unwanted attention before he could act on it. 'Of course! How bloody stupid am I? Sirius' wand!'

"Fucking idiot!" Harry cursed himself. He should have thought of that earlier.

But it might not have made a difference even if he had thought of it—he wouldn't have been able to fish it out of his boot being all tied up like he was before. He was having a hell of a time trying to bend his leg back far enough to reach his bound hands. The awkward motion kept causing his back to spasm and sent him into convulsions.

But Harry knew better than to give up. He wasn't sure he'd be able to survive another session—and now that he had remembered the wand, Bellatrix would probably find out about it when she next went poking around in his brain.

"Damn." Harry was gasping after the nearest spasm caused him to bite deeply into his tongue. He choked as his mouth filled with blood and he had to roll on his side so he wouldn't suffocate.

"Rise and shine Potter!" Harry winced as the sing-song voice echoed down the hall, and made a quick decision. He closed his eyes a second before the door clicked open.

"Is itty bitty baby Potter resting? Well it's time to get up! Don't tell me you forgot our play date?"

Harry didn't have to fake the yelp as she grabbed him by the hair and dragged him roughly from the small space. He winced at the harshness of the light shining through the windows and stayed where she dropped him. Steeling himself and hoping against hope she wouldn't figure him out, Harry cowered under her as she circled around him. "I'm sorry Uncle Vernon—Please… Don't put me back in the cupboard… I'll be good… I promise!"

Harry held his breath, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and head turned towards the ground. Shrill laughter finally broke out above him. "I did it! I broke him!"

Harry felt another tremor creeping up his spine, and clenched his teeth as the ache gave way to fire in every nerve in his body. By the time the convulsion was over, Bellatrix was busy rambling about her _victory_.

"…lasted twice as long as the Longbottoms! It's so hard to find a decent victim these days. Most people crack at the littlest hint of torture. But you Potter! You were a worthy subject! I don't think I'll ever be happy with the ragtag trash I'm usually stuck with ever again. That was brilliant."

Harry cracked his eyes open, watching as Bellatrix paced back and forth. The Carrows were nowhere in sight.

"Of course, I'm not quite done yet—and I suppose it is a little like torturing a young child once your mind is this far gone, but…" She was silent for a minute, but apparently couldn't come up with anything because she shrugged. "Oh well."

Harry didn't have time to brace himself before the next cruciatus curse hit him. He couldn't even scream anymore as the blinding pain shot through him—Harry was starting to doubt there was a time where he wasn't in pain.

'My name is Harry—Harry—Harry Potter… I am—Lily… No… Lily was my mum… James was my dad… I like blue… Voldemort is gonna die…" Harry forced himself through his mantra every time Bellatrix let up.

'I am—I am… Harry. I am Harry—Harry Potter…" Harry was on his hands and knees, trying to crawl away from the still laughing woman. "No… No… Please… Uncle…" His arms gave out from underneath him, and he hardly even twitched when the next 'Crucio' hit him.

It ended abruptly, and Harry listened dully as Bellatrix snapped loudly and the timid voice of a house elf met his ears.

"No, he may not come in."

"But he says he has a message from the Dark Lord, Mistress Bellatrix."

Harry slowly opened his eyes to see Bellatrix frowning down at a cowering elf. "I don't want him in here. Tell him I'll be out in a minute." The house elf disappeared with a pop.

Harry didn't bother trying to close his eyes as Bellatrix turned back to look at him. "Looks like itty bitty baby Potter is going to get a short rest." She flicked her wand and Harry felt an invisible force lift him up. He floated steadily through the air before being dropped unceremoniously in a heap in the cupboard. The door slammed closed, leaving him in darkness.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry sat up. He wasn't tied.

"There was something I was supposed to do." He frowned, starting his mantra again. "I am Harry—I am Harry…" He suddenly screamed as the pain completely took over his body again. When it died down, he sat up again.

"I am Harry…" He couldn't remember his last name. "I like blue." A small wave of excitement rolled over him as he remembered something else. "I have to—what do I have to do?"

"I'm back! Did you miss me Potter?" Harry jumped at the shouting voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix! That was it! He had to kill Bellatrix! And he had to use the wand in his boot!

Harry clumsily stuck his finger in his boot, pulling out the long stick. He gripped it firmly and pointed it at the door—waiting. "How do I kill her?"

Only one spell was coming to mind—a spell he didn't particularly like—but he couldn't remember why.

The door opened, and Bellatrix Lestrange bent down to look at him. Her smirk disappeared the minute she laid eyes on the supposedly brain dead boy in the cupboard.

Harry didn't hesitate. "Expellevisceri!"


	5. Chapter Four

Warning: Gore in this chapter

Chapter Four

Harry watched calmly as Bellatrix screamed, grasping at her stomach. A second later her stomach exploded outwards, and Harry threw up his arms in an attempt to shield his face from the blood and foul smelling liquid that sprayed everywhere.

When he looked back at her, Bellatrix was curled in the fetal position, trying to shove her intestines back into the gaping hole. Her eyes darted back to Harry as he moved, and she pointed an unsteady wand at him.

"Impotenti risus." Harry spat, watching the thrashing witch gasp as she started to laugh. Uncontrollable laughter seemed a fitting curse for a woman who took such pleasure in causing pain. He crawled over her, stopping only to snatch her wand out of her hand. When he was free of the closet, he stood up and glanced around. There was still no sign of the Carrows.

"Karma is a bitch." Harry told Bellatrix calmly as he looked down at her writhing form. There were tears pouring down her face, but still she laughed. He added another curse for good measure. "Ferventis."

Harry smirked as the glazed eyes rolled back in her head and her visible skin immediately flushed bright red. Her blood would soon start to boil—literally.

Harry carefully hid Sirius' wand back in his boot, keeping Bellatrix's in hand as he looked around. He was in a large hall with marble floors and a large crystal chandelier that sent light dancing all over. Numerous portraits all glared down at him, displaying eerily similar blonde hair and sharp pointed faces. There were large windows showing a well-kept rose garden—peacocks were fluttering about, twittering at each other.

Harry froze as he saw two blurry forms approaching the large double doors. They seemed to be deep in conversation, which the only reason they hadn't noticed Harry was standing there gaping at them. He quickly ducked down a narrow hallway going the opposite direction.

There was a closed door at the end of the hallway, and Harry hesitated in front of it. The sounds of a door swinging open behind him spurred him forward, and he silently slipped through the door—being extra careful to close it silently behind him.

'Not now!' Harry thought insistently as his whole body started to tremble. He heard loud, panicked voices drawing closer. Gritting his teeth, he backed away from the door until the backs of his legs his something solid and leveled his wand. The door burst open and Amycus strode through, snarling over his shoulder. He didn't see Harry—he was too busy yelling at his sister. "We bloody well better find him! And get her a healer! She's the Dark Lord's favorite, we can't have her dying on our watch!"

"Strangulatus." Harry whispered. The mans' eyes widened in surprise as he turned, clutching at his throat. "Expelliarmus." He caught the wand that flew over his head and watched as the man sank to his knees. He was already turning blue.

"I like blue." Harry told him calmly. Then he frowned. What else was he supposed to know?

"Amycus!?"

Harry watched fascinated as the sister came blundering blindly and leaned over her brother. "Amycus!" She followed the scared gaze and locked eyes with Harry, who had his head cocked to the side. She didn't even have her wand out.

"I am Harry." Harry said plainly. "Harry Potter. I am going to kill the Dork Lard." That didn't sound quite right to Harry. Apparently it didn't sound right to Alecto either because her mouth dropped open and her eyebrow jumped.

"You're nuts."

Harry shook his head grinning. "Nope. I'm peanuts—they're actually a legume." He giggled slightly.

Alecto smirked, slowly reaching toward her pocket. Harry sobered immediately. "Sinespinaeum!"

Her blood-curdling scream startled Harry, who watched in horror as the woman's spine clawed its' way out of her back. Her head fell limply forward and she crumpled in a heap on the ground.

Harry could do nothing but stare for a minute. Then he scrambled back from the bloody mess, dragging himself over the table and gagging. He tumbled off the other side and scrambled to his feet, eyes still glued to the horrible scene in front of him.

'_I_ did that.' Harry reminded himself bluntly. He gagged some more, choking on a sob. A door burst open behind him and Harry whirled around.

"Expelliarmus!"

Narcissa let out a little scream as her wand jumped from her hand. Harry ignored it as it clattered on the table. The blonde woman looked at him, and then looked at the Carrows.

"I didn't—I mean…" Harry shook his head forcefully, swaying a little at he watched the horrified look on her face grow as she turned her attention back to him. "I warned you."

Narcissa nodded, taking a great shuddering breath. "You know I'd be killed if I let you go without a fight."

Harry nodded, gagging again. His hand was shaking as he lifted the wand. "Stupify."

Narcissa crumpled to the ground, just as Harry did. Another convulsion left him screaming and thrashing. After a few minutes, he stilled. His breathing was coming in painfully short bursts that left him feeling dizzy. He forced himself to his feet. "I have to get out of here."

He knew there was a way out through the marble hall he had just come through, but he couldn't bring himself to even look back in the direction—let alone walk over the mess he had made in there. He snatched the wand off the table, looking at it closely. It was very pretty.

"I like this one better." He said matter of factly, holding it side by side with the one he had been using. It was made out of a rich, red looking wood—Bellatrix's wand was more of a grey color. It felt warmer in his hand too.

"It's much prettier." Harry muttered happily, pocketing the ugly wand—after all it was better to be safe than sorry. He gave the wand a wave, smiling when a shower of sparks shot out. "It likes me!"

Harry giggled happily, testing out the new wand by turning one of the dining chairs into a cactus. He scrunched his nose at the chair shaped cactus—_he_ wouldn't want to sit on that.

A slight breeze ruffled his hair, and he looked around curiously. There was a carpet on the wall, fluttering subtly. "How silly. Aren't carpets meant for the floor?" He approached the carpet—it showed a scowling old man with a long black and gray beard and thick eyebrows over grey eyes. His hair was long and brushed back, and his robes were silver. Harry scowled back at him. "You're supposed to be on the floor."

He grabbed a handful of the carpet and pulled—it wouldn't budge. The old man scowled harder, grey eyes flashing a bit darker. Harry paused, feeling the breeze ruffling his hair again. He looked behind the carpet and was surprised to see a long dark staircase with light shining dimly at the top. The breeze was stronger now.

Harry slowly climbed the stairs, wand pointed uncertainly ahead of him. He emerged into a long straight hallway that had doors leading away on either side. The breeze was from an open window at the end of the hallway—Harry could make out three rings that reminded him of wands muggle children used to blow bubbles. It was a quidditch pitch.

"I wish I had a quidditch pitch." Harry muttered. He started as one of the doors opened, and pointed his new wand at the blonde boy that walked out. The boy froze when he saw him.

"Potter?"

Harry blinked. "Yes. You know me? I'm Harry—Harry Potter. My favorite color is blue."

The boy just stared at him for a second, eyes flicking down to his wand. The confused look gave way to rage. "That's mothers' wand!"

Harry frowned. "No! It's mine! It likes me… see!" He waved the wand and sparks flew out the end, causing Harry to giggle. When he looked back at the boy, he was surprised to see the boy slowly advancing, hand trembling around his own outstretched wand.

"What did you do to my mother!?"

Harry frowned, confused. "I didn't do anything to your mother. Do I know you?" He stared hard at the boy. "You look kind of familiar. But there were a lot of pictures on the walls—you look like them."

"What did you do to my mother, Potter?"

Harry blinked, feeling a wave of nausea roll over him and he gasped, doubling over and retching. He didn't look up when a wand pressed into his neck.

"I'm not going to ask you again."

"I didn't—I stunned her—I only stunned her!" Harry gasped. His whole body twitched in spasm. His arms were covered in blood, and Harry shuddered. "No… Off… Get it off!" He started wiping at the blood, cringing when it just smeared. "No!"

"I swear if you hurt my mother I'm going to—"

"I didn't! I swear I didn't!" Harry bit out, gritting his teeth at a new spasm. "She said Voldemort would kill her if she let me leave without putting up a fight—and I stunned her… I just stunned her…" There were black spots appearing in his vision as his knees buckled and his nerves started burning again. He squeezed his eyes shut as a sob tore past his throat. The trembling didn't stop after the pain ebbed.

"Potter?"

Harry looked up, staring in fascination at the grey eyes. "Hullo. I'm Harry. I like blue."

"Holy Hell. You've gone mad."

"No. I'm not angry at the moment." Harry looked around. "I was supposed to do something. But I don't remember." He frowned. "I think I'm supposed to kill the Dark Lord. Or was it Dork Lard? I don't remember."

"Potter, where's Bellatrix?"

Harry smiled at the blonde boy. "She's dead. I already killed her."

"And the Carrows?"

"Yep! Although I'm not sure they were on the list…" Harry frowned again. Suddenly he looked back up at the boy. "Malfoy?"

"So you recognize me now?"

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat and tears started welling in his eyes. "It was horrible—I cursed them! There was so much blood…" He sobbed again, scratching at his arms. "So much…"

"Bloody hell." Harry flinched when a hand grabbed his arm. "Don't just sit there sobbing like a scared little girl! We have to get you out of here."

Harry nodded, trying to stand—but his legs wouldn't support him. His muscles felt like they had been through a cheese grater.

* * *

Draco wasn't entirely sure why he had just basically promised Potter that he was going to get him out of there. He had no clue how to handle the sobbing boy at his feet. His rival was trembling, completely unable to stand and covered in blood and—dare he say it—guts. He knew enough to know that it was highly probable that the boy was completely out of his mind—except he had seen the shift—Potter was still _there_. At least a little bit.

From his aunts bragging the night before, Draco knew that Harry had withstood more torture than both Longbottoms combined—and still been relatively intact. However the boy in front of him was hovering dangerously on the brink—and that scared Draco completely senseless.

He kneeled down, grabbing Potters chin and making him look into his eyes. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat forcefully. "Swear to me that you didn't hurt my mother."

The green eyes focused, still clouded with pain and the hoarse voice trembled. "I swear. I would never—she helped me."

Draco stared into the eyes a moment longer before standing back up. Harry was still rubbing at the blood on his arms. If Draco had to guess—which he did—he'd say that Potter had been close to an entrails-expelling curse. Or had performed it himself—though how the hell Potter could have learned a curse like that was beyond him. His own parents had kept him far away from those curse books—and that section of the restricted section was guarded even more closely.

"Come on." Draco pulled Potter up by his arm, steadying the boy as he faltered. He winced when Potter sobbed at the pain, and Draco stumbled under the weight of the smaller boy. Suddenly, Potter stopped sobbing and looked at him. "I like blue."

'Yep.' Draco thought darkly. 'Going around the bend—and fast.'

The detached, incoherent Potter was much easier to deal with. He didn't tremble as much, and allowed Draco to lead him into his bedroom with very little fuss. Except to reiterate that he was supposed to kill the Dark Lord—or Dork Lard as he had started calling him. Draco snorted at that. Leave it to Potter to completely undermine and slander the most fearsome Dark Lord the wizarding world had ever known.

"What are we doing?" Potters' eyes were wide and innocent as he gazed around Draco's room. His eyes stopped on the Slytherin banner that took up most of his wall. "I like snakes—well not Basilisks—I don't remember why. Snakes talk to me. I once set a Boa Constrictor on my cousin at the zoo. It was an accident. I didn't know I was a wizard."

"Did he deserve it?" Draco asked, pulling the babbling boy through the next door—into his bathroom. Potter seemed to think for a moment before saying bluntly, "Yes."

Draco slipped out from under Harry's arm and waved his wand at the deep tub. It was immediately filled with hot water. He turned to Harry, who was watching him expectantly. "Are we going swimming?"

"Yes." Draco replied. "I think it's a good day for a swim, don't you?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically, taking a step towards the tub. "It's just like the prefects bathtub."

Draco arched an eyebrow at the boy. "How do you know about that?"

"Cedric told me about it during the Triwizard tournament to pay me back for telling him about the dragons." Harry's eyebrows furrowed, and he frowned. "I didn't think it was quite a fair trade. I told him exactly what the first task was and he just told me to take a bath." The slightly indignant look suddenly gave way to one of horror.

"Potter?"

"Malfoy? I didn't—I didn't…" Draco caught him before he crumpled. The boy was sobbing again. Draco bit his lip in an attempt to keep his own tears at bay. He had already known about _that_ experience in Potters life—it was just different watching his rival completely break down.

"We're going to get you cleaned up and then I'm going to get you out of here." Draco explained calmly, dragging Harry over to the edge of the bath. He didn't bother removing either of their clothes before he stepped them slowly down into the hot water.

Potter howled as the water touched his skin, making Draco nearly drop him when he started thrashing.

"Shhh! I know it hurts but just hold on! It will get better." Draco murmured, tightening the hold he had around Harrys' waist. The boy suddenly went limp and Draco was sure he had passed out until he spoke again.

"Blue is a good color."

Draco rolled his eyes. "So you've said."

Potter seemed content to let Draco bear his weight as he lowered him until he was sitting with the water up to his neck. Potter giggled at him. "You're not supposed to take a bath with your clothes on silly."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What if your clothes need a bath too?"

Potter frowned in thought. "Isn't that what washing machines are for?"

"I guess so. Don't forget to wash your face."

Harry did what he was told, ducking his head under the water and scrubbing furiously at his face. When he came back up, Draco pulled on his arm. "Alright. We're done."

He didn't get an answer, but didn't have to ask again. Potter followed him obediently out of the bath.

Draco muttered as he pulled Harry back into his room. He hadn't bothered to learn any sort of household charms—those sort of things were mostly extra credit. So he didn't know any drying spells. He started searching through his wardrobe for something that might fit the smaller boy.

"Master Draco!?"

Draco jumped, spinning to look at the scared house elf that had just popped into his room. "What Dippy? I'm a little busy right now and do not want to be disturbed."

"House elves are funny looking." Potter muttered, stumbling over to Dippy and reaching out to touch her ear. "But they're quite brilliant—don't you think?"

Draco ignored him, watching the little elf squirm. "What is it?" He finally snapped.

"Master Severus is in the floo to see Mistress Narcissa—except Mistress Narcissa is sleeping in the dining room. When Dippy told Master Severus that Mistress was sleeping he said that he'd see Mistress Bellatrix—except Mistress Bellatrix is in bad shape—and Dippy told Master Severus that he should wait but he said he has no time to wait and stepped through—so Dippy has to tell Master Draco that Master Severus is here."

"Fuck!" Draco abandoned the wardrobe—there was no time for that. "Dippy, I want you to take Potter to Diagon Alley—take him to that shop owned by the Weasleys. Do not tell anyone that you did this. Do you understand?"

Dippy nodded, huge ears flapping as she grabbed Harry's sleeve and they both disappeared with a small 'pop.'

Draco rushed out of his room not a moment too soon. He heard a strangled shout, and his godfather's voice carried up the stairs. "Narcissa! What the bloody hell happened? Is Draco okay?"

He didn't hear his mothers' reply before Severus came rushing up the stairs. He tried to compose himself, but realized belatedly that he was sopping wet and shaking violently.

"Draco! Are you hurt!?" Severus was suddenly right in front of him, hands on his shoulders. Draco quickly shook his head.

"What happened!? Who did this?"

"Did what!?" Draco asked stupidly, eyes flicking to where his mother had just come up the stairs. She was pale, but otherwise looked alright.

"Don't play dumb with me." Draco winced at his godfathers' suddenly cold voice. "It's a bloodbath down there. What happened?"

"I don't know." Draco lied boldly, swallowing over the lump in his throat at the dark gleam in his godfathers' eyes.

"You're lying." Severus straightened up, whipping out his wand in a flash. "Legilimens!"

Draco gasped as his memories of the last three days were forcibly dredged up. When the images finally stopped, he was panting and had fallen to the ground. His mother was screaming at Severus.

"Silence!" Severus held a hand out to Draco, who accepted it grudgingly. "We have to get you both out of here before any other of the Dark Lords' followers show up—or worse the Dark Lord himself. If he finds' out you both helped Potter, you'll be worse than dead."

Draco felt his jaw drop. "You are going to go against the Dark Lord!?"

"You are a spy!" His mother spat, eyes going cold.

"Yes I am. Which is very good for you because you both were incredibly foolish and didn't cover your tracks—and need I remind you the Dark Lord is a far better Legilimens than I! He'll spot the betrayal in your eyes the minute he glances at you!"

Draco swallowed harshly. "What do you suggest? Not—you don't expect us to go to _him_ do you!?"

Severus sneered at him. "At this point, you don't have much of a choice." He turned back towards the stairs, sweeping past Narcissa. "We don't have all day. I'm going to have to get back here and do damage control before the others show up."

Draco looked to his mother. She was still frozen, but shook herself as she met his scared gaze. At her nod, he took his mothers' arm and followed wordlessly after his godfather.


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Severus fought back the urge to sigh as he silently led Narcissa and Draco downstairs. He motioned them to be quiet as the passed by the prone forms of Amycus and Alecto—Alecto at least was still alive—though how much longer she would be was a mystery to him. He swept into Lucius' study.

"We're going to Hogwarts—my office. The password is 'sopohorus.'" He grabbed a pot off the mantle of the fireplace, holding it out to the two cowering blondes. Draco glanced at his mother before reaching out a shaking hand and grabbing a handful of the powder. He stepped up to the fireplace and shouted out, "Hogwarts, Severus Snapes office. Sopohorus."

Narcissa glared at him before following her son. Severus finally allowed a sigh to escape as he replaced the floo powder on the mantle and followed the other two.

They were standing awkwardly in his office when he stepped out of the green flames. He motioned for them to follow as he swept out of the door and into the deserted corridor. He didn't lead them up the to the gargoyle on the second floor—instead he took them down the first floor corridor and pounded impatiently on Minerva's office door.

It took a few minutes for the door to open. "Severus!? What is it?" Minerva's eyes widened as she glanced over Draco and Narcissa. "Come in."

She ushered them through the door, closing it behind them with a snap.

"I need you to send word that Potter will soon be in Diagon alley at the shop the twins own." Snape breathed out. "He's not in his right mind, so he should be approached with extreme caution."

Minerva nodded, flicking her eyes to Narcissa. The blonde woman was pale and trembling, but didn't recoil from the harsh scrutiny.

"These two are in need of protection—I'm sure they'll be able to tell Albus exactly what happened to the boy." Snape flickered his gaze over the two people he very much considered family. "Minerva. It is imperative that they are not sent back. They'll be killed."

Minerva nodded. "You can trust me, Severus. What are you going to do?"

"Clean up. Potter made quite a mess—Bellatrix was still alive when I found her—and she might still be. I countered the blood-boiling curse, but there was a lot of damage. The Dark Lord is due back tonight, and there's a meeting planned. Tell Albus I'll report afterwards—and if I don't he'll know what happened."

Minerva nodded again, quickly going to the floo. Severus paused only to squeeze Draco's shoulder lightly before sweeping out of the office.

In a matter of minutes he gathered all the potions and ingredients he might possibly need and was back at the manor. It was deathly silent. He strode briskly through the dining room, stepping carelessly over the Carrows. If he had time, he'd try to get to them later. Bellatrix was first priority—she was the Dark Lords' favorite.

Bellatrix's body would spasm violently every few seconds, and Severus waved a quick diagnosis spell over her. "Uncontrollable laughter!? What the hell?" He undid the spell, and the spasms stopped. A quick flick of his wand arranged the spewed intestines carefully into a neat pile and he levitated the woman out of the hall. She moaned loudly at the motion, and Severus fought the urge to just drop her and wait for her to die. He had to give it to Potter—it would certainly be a fitting end for one such as Bellatrix. Lying in a pool of her own innards, writhing in agony as her blood slowly boiled and laughing the whole while. It was almost poetic.

But the Dark Lord would have his head if he ever found out he did nothing to save his most darling follower. Pity.

The basement was cool and dark, but thankfully dry. He frowned as he gently lowered Bellatrix onto a table and performed a few more diagnostic spells.

Fishing the pre-made potions out of his pocket, Severus carefully selected the blood-replenishing potion and forced a sizeable amount down her throat. He waved a cleaning spell at the tangled intestines, carefully examining them for tears before starting to feed them back into the woman's abdomen.

"Severus?"

Severus started at the small voice but didn't stop his work. "Don't move."

Bellatrix did as she was told, eyes wide as she watched the potions master shove inch after inch of her innards back where they belonged. "I don't know how he did it—he had been completely gone… just like the Longbottoms. Took over twice as long to get him to that point—don't know where he got the wand…"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Who exactly are you talking about?"

"Potter!" Bellatrix spat, head lolling to the side as a grin broke out on her face. "He was most excellent sport. Three days—and you know I don't go easy just because someone's young."

"Potter!? Here? How the bloody hell did you get your hands on Potter?"

Bellatrix smiled. "That was easy. His muggles made a stop and left him in one of those moving contraptions they use to get around. From there, Amycus just grabbed him and apparated.

"Ah. Simple. But no less effective."

Severus fought back the shudder as he watched the hungry look pass over Bellatrix's face. "Three days—and he was still completely sane. Had to have been—I bet he was faking it. Tricky little thing—got my guard down. Then he hit me with that curse—who knew the brat would be such a challenge… I'd have come out to play a long time ago."

Snape finished realigning the bowels and cleaned his hands with a flick of his wand. "Don't move. I have to make some potions for you to close up the wound."

Bellatrix nodded. "Wouldn't want my intestines spilling back out over the floor. Tricky. Yes. Do you know I think Potter would have made a most excellent Slytherin?"

"I doubt that." Severus ignored the rest of the woman's rambling in favor of setting up three separate cauldrons. He needed a flesh-regrowing potion, an anti-infection potion and a nerve-mending potion in short order.

"I suppose the Carrows' are finishing him off, aren't they. Pity. I'd love to see the moment the stubborn brat breaks."

"The Carrows are lying disfigured in a pool of blood. I don't expect them to live." Severus set his ingredients to chopping themselves with a flick of his wand.

"Really? That's a shame. They showed such promise." He heard her hum a tone-less tune. "Who has him then? Not Draco, I hope. The boy is far too soft for his own good. I expected better of Lucius, but then my sister has always been the gentle one."

Severus flicked his wand and set identical flames under two cauldrons, filling the third with icy water. "No. Draco was not in the house—nor was Narcissa." He anticipated Bellatrix's shock and kept her flat on the table with a wave of his wand. "You mustn't move!"

"But the boy! Where is he!?"

"I don't know." Severus growled, carefully sorting his ingredients and sending them to their proper cauldrons. He set three stirrers in their proper motions. "He's not in the house."

"He's gone!? That's not possible!" Despite her best efforts, Bellatrix couldn't break the spell to sit up. "But—but we had him!"

"And apparently you lost your head in the excitement and let him escape. It was very foolish of you not to tell anyone of your plans—least of all because now it is going to be near impossible to ever snatch the boy again. I don't imagine the Dark Lord will be very forgiving when he finds out you had Potter—past tense."

Bellatrix let out a strangled sob. "We had him! He was secure! I don't know where he got the wand…" Her eyes suddenly turned nearly black as her pupils dilated and she screamed. "It was that stupid boy! I knew there was something wrong with him—looked like death when he watched us torture Potter. Vomited all over himself at the first sign of blood—that filthy little blood-traitor!"

"You don't know that." Severus said calmly. His eyebrows furrowed and he glared at the woman. "It was an absolute mess when I got here. For all we know, Potter took Draco and killed him."

But Bellatrix kept shaking her head. "You weren't there, Severus. The boy was positively sick over what we were doing to Potter. And Narcissa! She got so angry at me for dragging him down to join in the fun. They helped him! They betrayed us!"

Severus jumped when he heard a shout overhead and cursed silently. He was supposed to have a few more hours to clean up the mess—he still needed to interrogate the house elves to make sure they didn't know more than they needed to about his actions. He already had the bad feeling he would need to poison at least one of them.

He heard the shout again, and vaguely recognized Goyle's voice. Sighing, he enchanted one of his spare stirring rods with legs and a mouth. "Tell that fool that the situation is under control and send him down here."

The rod jumped off the table and went sprinting up the stairs. A few minutes later the great lumbering man came stomping down. "What the bloody hell happened up there!?"

Severus ignored him, carefully counting out seconds for the flesh mending potion. It turned fuchsia, and he set the stirrer stirring counter-clockwise.

"What does it look like, you blithering idiot?"

Goyle blinked stupidly at the prone form of Bellatrix.

"Dear Bellatrix and her little friends decided the follow through on a rather desperate scheme—and were momentarily successful." Severus snapped. He finally had a free moment to leave the potions and turned to Bellatrix. She glared up at him, but he was pleased to see her face flush. "Then, they got carried away and the entire thing blew up in their face—or rather in her intestines." He grinned nastily.

"Huh?"

"They captured Harry Potter."

"That's brilliant!" Goyle smiled stupidly. He sat heavily on a chair. Then he frowned. "Why do I sense a 'but?"

"You saw the mess. Who do you think made that mess?" Severus drawled, using the slow voice he usually reserved for stupid children who blew up potions.

Goyle frowned, and a look of horror passed across his heavy face. "Potter?"

"Yes."

"Do we still have him?"

"No."

Goyle was on his feet in a flash. "He can't have gotten far! Its' not like he can apparate—and besides! The wards!" He lumbered back up the stairs as fast as his thick legs could carry him and a second later the sound of the door bursting open could be heard.

"He won't find him." Bellatrix bit out, glowering at the potions master as he resumed his hovering over the three cauldrons.

"It is doubtful." Severus agreed. "But I'm not going to tell him that. I would prefer not to have him underfoot while I work."

Bellatrix nodded. "I don't suppose I'll be forgiven for this one. Maybe you shouldn't bother."

Severus shot her a look. "It is not for us to decide how forgiving the Dark Lord will be—and I would rather not explain to him that I let his favorite die so she could escape his wrath."

Bellatrix squirmed a bit. "What about the Carrows?"

"I can do nothing for them."

There was a long hour of silence after that. Severus finished the anti-infection potion first, silently feeding it to Bellatrix. She grimaced at the taste but drank it without fuss. While the nerve-mending potion was left to vaporize in the corked flasks, Severus carefully poured the still steaming flesh-regeneration potion over the gaping wound. Bellatrix screamed, but a stunning spell left her immobile while the potion did its' work. It was completely without finesse, but would do the job.

He had to wake her back up to apply the nerve-mending potion. The potion had to be inhaled as a vapor.

"Why do I need this?" Bellatrix asked stubbornly as Severus propped her into a sitting position.

"Blood boiling curse."

"Oh." She frowned. "That brat really tried to kill me, didn't he? Obviously didn't finish the job. But he left me to die slowly and painfully."

Severus didn't answer as he uncorked the vial and made the woman inhale. She collapsed back on the table, and Severus stunned her again before she could start screaming.

He pocketed the remaining vials of the nerve-mending potion. He had a feeling he'd need it to treat Potter later. He cleared up the mess with a wave of his wand and went back upstairs. Goyle had left the door open, and was nowhere in sight.

"Elves!"

All four of the Malfoy's house elves appeared in front of him with a light pop. He looked into each of their eyes in turn, singling out the youngest one who trembled violently under his gaze.

"You three! Get this mess cleaned up. It better be spotless before the Dark Lord gets here. Dippy, I need your assistance. Come with me."

The little elf did as she was told, following at his heel as he strode through the kitchen and up the stairs hidden behind the tapestry of Merlin. He burst into Draco's room unceremoniously, glancing around. The boys' school trunk was still in the middle of the floor. He shrunk it with a wave of his wand and snatched it up. Then he strode back down the hallway and into the room Narcissa and Lucius normally shared.

"I need you to quickly gather Narcissa some clothes and items she would be unwilling to leave behind." The elf shuddered at his cold voice but jumped to the task. She disappeared for a second, and was back with a large trunk. A snap of her fingers had clothes flying and folding themselves into the trunk—as well as some pictures and makeup. After a second, the trunk closed with a snap.

"Very good." Severus shrunk the second trunk, and it joined the first one in his pocket. Then he slipped a vial of poison out of his sleeve.

The elf squeaked in fear, but didn't struggle as Severus forced it to swallow the contents of the vial. A few seconds of convulsions later, and the elf was dead.

Severus forcefully stilled his shaking hands and vanished the vial. It was cruel, but unfortunately necessary. That elf was the only one who knew that Draco and Narcissa had in fact been home when he had arrived—and the Dark Lord was sure to interrogate the elves. He swept back down the stairs. The dining room was already spotless, the bodies of the Carrows gone. The three elves were still trying to clean up the mess from the entrails-expulsion curse in the foyer.

"Was that other elf sick?" Severus demanded. The other three turned to him with wide eyes, shaking their heads. "Are you certain?"

"No Master. Dippy wasn't sick."

Severus frowned at them. He had to plant the seed. "She seems to have been poisoned then."

The three elves gasped. "She collapsed while I was investigating Narcissa's room. There seems to have been a lot of clothes missing. And Draco's school trunk was gone as well. Do you know anything about this?"

All three elves shook their heads.

"Very well. When you are finished here, get rid of the body."

He swept away without waiting for a response. There. His tracks should be sufficiently covered. Everyone would think that Narcissa or maybe Draco had been the ones to poison the elf in an attempt to cover their escape.

He heard Goyle come rumbling back into the foyer just as he opened the door to the basement and threw a glance over his shoulder. "Well?"

"Nothing." Goyle grunted. "He's not going to be pleased."

Severus sighed. "There's nothing we can do about that. It was foolish of them to do this—not least because they were trying to keep it to themselves. No doubt they didn't want to share the Dark Lords' pleasure with the rest of us. Now he's out two more."

Goyle nodded, following as he descended back into the poorly lit basement. "Ennervate."

Bellatrix woke with a gasp, looking around wildly as she sat up. "Is it done?"

Severus nodded.

"What are we going to do!? He's going to kill us—"

"You. Need I remind you I was not privy to this insane plan of yours—and if I had been, I assure you we wouldn't be in this situation."

Bellatrix slumped. "I just wanted to surprise him—give him a gift. He's been so out of sorts since the Ministry."

Severus laughed coldly. "Yes. Well, this is bound to cheer him up, don't you think?"

Goyle was shivering. The potions master arched an amused eyebrow at him but said nothing. At length, Bellatrix spoke again.

"You don't suppose it might make up for it that I found out some of Potters' dirty little secrets, do you?"

"It is unlikely. Unless of course, you discovered Potters' Achilles heel."

"He's afraid of cupboards—or I suppose just small dark spaces in general. Imagine the boy-who-lived being claustrophobic." Bellatrix was smiling again, but the smile quickly faded. "But it obviously wasn't enough. He got out of the cupboard, didn't he?"

"Obviously."

Bellatrix didn't stop smiling though, and her eyes started gleaming as she stared at him.

"If you have something to say, Bellatrix, just say it. Do not try and play games with me."

"Potter fancies you." She started giggling. "He fancies the pants off you."

Severus sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. "I find that highly unlikely. The boy hates me."

"Oh yes. He does hate you. He absolutely _loves_ to hate you."

Goyle shifted uncomfortably, drawing Severus' attention. Bellatrix just kept giggling. "He entertains rather crude fantasies about you, Severus. Fantasies in which you bend him over your desk and fuck him raw."

"That is rather crude." Severus started pacing. "I don't see your point."

"Well that's a tool that can be used against him, isn't it? Suppose I suggest to the Dark Lord that one of his most loyal servants might be able to seduce the boy."

"Do you really think the Dark Lord would have me risk my position with Dumbledore for something so obscure?" Severus sniffed, turning his back on the still madly laughing woman. "What would be the purpose?"

Bellatrix's laughter slowly died down. "Gain his trust?"

"You know as well as I that sex has very little to do with trust."

"Touché."

Severus stopped pacing. "If you are feeling better, might I suggest you take the time to clean up and compose yourself before the Dark Lord returns."

Bellatrix nodded, standing up and stretching. She winced. "Still hurts."

"Not much I can do about that. I suppose I could give you a pain relieving potion, but I don't think _he_ would be pleased if you were babbling like an idiot when you gave your report." He strode around the room. "He is not going to be pleased as it is, with two of his servants dead and two missing."

Bellatrix frowned. "So Narcissa and Draco are gone? For good?"

"It appears so."

"Damn blood traitors!"

Severus ignored her and turned to Goyle. "Well? What are you just standing there for? Go occupy yourself!" The large man mumbled under his breath, but quickly left the room.

"I can't believe Cissy betrayed me."

Severus ignored her and followed Goyle up the stairs. He walked through the now sparkling foyer and out the front doors. A flock of peacocks scattered as he strode past. When he was past the gates, he quickly turned on the spot and disapparated.


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Harry blinked. Where had the blond boy gone? Instead of the green and silver room, he was suddenly in a rather desolate looking street. A few people were rushing past, but paid no attention to him. "Why am I soaking wet?"

Harry turned his attention to the shop immediately in front of him. It was brightly colored, with one full window of gadgets that were bouncing and squeaking and flashing. The other window had a giant purple poster with glowing yellow letters.

WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT  
YOU-KNOW-WHO?  
YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT  
U-NO-POO—  
THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION  
THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!

Harry giggled. That was so silly. U-No-Poo? What was that? Harry was intrigued, and wandered into the shop. It was crowded with people and products that pulled at his memory, but he brushed it off.

"Hey! You're dripping all over our shop! Harry!?"

Harry turned to look at the red head. "Hi! I'm Harry. I like blue."

"Bloody hell. George!"

Another redhead appeared, completely identical to the first. "Harry!"

"You two look alike. You must be related."

George inched closer, throwing an arm around him. "Alright there Harry? Lets' get you somewhere more private."

Harry nodded, suddenly giggling. "U-No-Poo? Is he related to the Dork Lard?"

"Yes. They're twins, just like us." Fred said, quickly cutting a path through the group of customers that were starting to stare at the sodden boy-who-lived. "Nothing to see here folks. In fact, the store is closing now, so if you can please take your purchases to the counter… anyone still here in fifteen minutes will become our newest guinea pig."

There were a few seconds of silence followed by a near stampede to the counter. Harry grinned again. "Guinea pigs are cute—but I don't understand why they're called pigs…"

"Because they're usually way too fat for such little bodies." George said, smiling as he led Harry firmly into the back room. Fred brought up the rear and quickly closed and locked the door, casting a silencing ward for good measure. "Verity is going to kill us."

Harry frowned. "What's Verity? And why is it gonna kill—" Harrys' eyes went blank for a minute, and he started trembling. "Fred? George?"

"Harry?" Both twins asked at the same time. They shared a look and Fred kept talking. "Bloody hell. What happened to you? Everyone's been scared witless! You've been missing for three days."

Harry wrapped his arms around himself. "Why—I'm all wet… I don't know… Bellatrix—I think I killed her." A blanket appeared out of nowhere and wrapped around him, and he was led to an armchair.

"That's all right, mate. Bellatrix was evil. She had it coming."

Harry leaned forward shivering violently as another tremor took over. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears started running down his face.

"We have to contact the order. You stay here and keep him calm. I'll go to headquarters."

"Right. Be careful Fred."

"You too. Try and cheer him up. Show him one of our new fake wands—the one that turns into knickers when you try to use it."

"Right. See you in a bit."

Harry looked up at the remaining redhead blankly. "Now there's only one of you."

"Yeah. We aren't attached at the hip, like most people think. Are you doing alright Harry?"

Harry grinned. "Yep! Harry! I'm Harry Potter! My favorite color is blue!" He frowned again. "I have to kill the Dork Lard—Dork… Dork… Lard… That doesn't sound very intimidating, does it?"

"Not one bit. Hey Harry, look at this." George smiled, handing Harry a wand.

"I've already got a new wand. It's very pretty. See!?" He pulled it out of his pocket, smiling at the reddish wood. "It likes me."

"Really now? Well this is a special wand. Go ahead! Give it a wave."

Harry frowned as he took the wand from the redhead. It didn't look very special. Shrugging, Harry gave it a wave—shrieking when the thing turned into a pair of lacy, pink knickers in his hand.

"What do you think? Its' one of our newest lines of fakeys."

Harry held up the lacy knickers to look at them closely. "I don't have to wear these, do I?"

"Only if you want to."

"Good. They look itchy." Harry giggled. "Do you wear them?"

"No. Can't say that I do."

Harry nodded, looking around again. "I don't know how I got here. I think a house elf brought me. But I'm not sure." Harry smiled blankly. His eyes landed back on the pink, lacy knickers. "I tried woman's underwear once. Silk. Kind of nice. Hugged in all the right places."

George fought down a snicker. "You're going to regret telling me this when you're in your right mind, you know that right?"

Harry's smile faded. "Right mind? Am I in my left mind now? How do I get to the right mind?" His eyebrows furrowed as he thought hard. "Right mind? I don't think Bellatrix has a right mind. She's nuts." Harry suddenly gasped, and his whole body began to spasm. He started screaming, choking on blood when he bit his abused tongue again. When it died back down, he was curled in the fetal position on the floor, and George—or was it Fred was kneeling next to him. His brown eyes were wide and his freckles stood out starkly on his pale face.

"Harry? Merlin's saggy balls! What happened to you?"

Harry coughed, flinching away from the hand steadying his shoulder. "I don't want to play any more… No more… Just put me back in the cupboard and leave me to die…"

"Don't say that Harry! We're getting help! You just need to hold on! Can you do that for me? Hold on." George soothingly tried to stroke Harrys' hair, but Harry jerked away from the touch. "Harry? Do you remember me? I'm George. Mum sometimes calls me Gred or Forge… Remember?"

Harry nodded, eyes slipping shut.

"Don't go to sleep!"

Harry groaned when George started shaking him. He opened his eyes and stared at the redhead hovering over him. "You have a lot of freckles…" He lifted his finger to touch the spots on his face. "They're so—freckly."

The redhead sighed, and Harry noticed tears in his eyes. "Are you crying? Why?"

"I'm just a little sad right now."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Harry pushed himself into a sitting position, frowning at the shuddering redhead. "Why are you sad?"

"Because one of my best mates' is really, really sick."

"Oh no! Did you get him some medicine!?"

"Not yet. But soon. I just don't know if it will be enough." The redhead stood, pulling Harry to his feet. "We shouldn't be sitting on the floor when there's perfectly good chairs."

Harry giggled. "Yep! That would be just silly. I'm Harry, by the way. I like blue."

"I'm George. I like yellow. Its' nice to meet you."

Harry smiled, humming as he started to rock back and forth. "Yellow is a good color. Its' like sunshine—and daisies!" He frowned. "I don't like orange though. Orange is like carrots. Carrots are yucky." Then he smiled again. "Blue is the best though! The sky is blue! I like the sky."

He fell silent again, still humming and rocking. George didn't say anything, just watching him closely.

Suddenly, the door burst open and Harry jumped up—his eyes were wide and he screamed, grabbing a wand off the table. "Furatuspiritium!" He stumbled backwards as the wand turned into a chicken with a loud squawk. "No! No more! Please…" He scrambled backwards on his hands, eyes wide as the woman with pink hair stared back at him. She was crying, and behind her he saw the other redhead.

"Harry?"

Harry turned to look at the other redhead, who was reaching out a hand for him. He screamed and threw the chicken at him, scrambling under a table on his hands and knees—sobbing. "No! Please… No more… Please… Just put me back in the cupboard." He was trembling violently, and retched—blood splattered on the ground—and he started screaming again.

"No more blood! No! I'm sorry! I won't do it again… Please… don't hurt me anymore… no more…" Harry curled into himself as the sobs shook his whole body. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" He squeezed his eyes shut, gasping for breath and didn't have time to react when he heard the muttered 'Stupify' and he saw the flash of red behind his eyelids.

* * *

When Harry woke up, he was in a well-lit room. It was kind of dingy, but Harry thought it was loads better than the cupboard. He sat up slowly, looking around. He was in a bed, and someone had changed him into a long sleeved, blue nightshirt. He heard voices through the closed door, and got up to follow them.

Fred and George both looked up at him as he walked out into the hallway—their eyes were wide. "Harry!? How did you—you were stunned!"

Harry blinked at them. "Was I? Why was I stunned?"

They both sighed in relief. "You were freaking out, mate. We were so scared."

"Oh." Harry frowned. "Well I'm not shocked now. I must be better." He smiled at them.

Their eyebrows rose in tandem, and they slowly turned back to look at him. "How are you feeling?"

Harry frowned again. "I don't know. I lost my wand." He started patting the nightshirt where his pockets were supposed to be. "It must have gotten angry at me."

"I'm sure it's just taking a little vacation." Harry felt an arm slip around his shoulders. "Do you want to sit down?"

Harry shook his head. "I need to use the loo."

"Of course! Fred! Take the man to the loo."

"You take him!"

"I'll take myself, thank you very much." Harry pouted. "Where is it?"

"That way." Both twins pointed, and Harry headed through the door. He stood staring at the gleaming porcelain for a few minutes, before quickly using the toilet. He then walked over and turned on the tap to the bath. He watched the water fill up in the tub, giggling as the steam rose and filled the bathroom with a thick fog.

"Harry!? What are you doing?"

Harry opened the door. "I'm going swimming." He shut the door back in their faces and turned and jumped into the tub. He screamed when the hot water touched his skin and scrambled back out as the door burst open.

"That wasn't very fun." Harry said dully, crying quietly.

"Come on Harry. We'll take you for a real swim later—you're not supposed to swim in hot water."

Harry nodded dully as the twins pulled him to his feet, leading him out of the water drenched bathroom. One of them muttered a quick charm and Harry giggled as the nightshirt was instantly dry. "That tickled."

They led him back down the hallway to the drawing room. Harry frowned as he looked around. There was a tapestry on the wall—not a carpet—Harry wasn't sure why that was important. "The Black family tree." He suddenly jumped back in horror. "We're in Sirius' house!"

"Calm down mate. Technically it's your house now. Didn't Dumbledore tell you? Sirius left everything to you."

Harry sank down on the couch, staring wide-eyed at the tapestry. He suddenly grabbed handfuls of his hair, pulling roughly and rocking back and forth. "No. No. No. No. No… I cannot be here… I can't be here. I killed him… I can't be here. I deserve the cupboard and Bellatrix… No. No. No. No. No!" Harry was on his feet in a flash, backing towards the door. One of the twins moved towards him and he screamed, turning and running. Down the hallway—up the stairs. He ended up in an empty room—there was nothing in it but a window and a closet. He scrambled at the closet door, throwing himself in and shutting the door behind him.

The minute the door closed, Harry froze. He was crouched low, and could feel how close the air was around him. His breath started coming in short gasps, and his chest hurt. "No!" He threw himself against the door, screaming and beating his fists against it. It fell open abruptly and he crumpled forward, sobbing as strong arms wrapped around him.

"Shh. It's alright Harry. You're safe."

"Remus?" Harry blinked up at the werewolf. The man was paler than ever, but smiled softly—the wrinkles around his eyes squeezed together. Harry buried his face into Remus' neck. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry…"

"It's not your fault."

Harry trembled at the soothing voice, sobbing harder. Another wave of tremors assaulted him out of nowhere, causing him to scream and push away from the older man.

"No! Please! No more! No more…" He fell silent again, curling into a ball. "No more. I'll be good. I promise!"

"You aren't in trouble, Harry."

Harry sat back up, tears still on his face. He blinked, eyes wide and blank. "Did you know that the Dark Lord has a twin?"

"What?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "He's got an unhealthy obsession with poo."

Remus frowned, turning to look at the twins who were standing in the doorway and laughing softly. He raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

"That is very interesting to know, Harry. Now, Professor Snape just arrived, and he has some potions that are going to make you feel better. Can I take you back to your room yet?"

Harry blinked at him. "Snape?" A flicker of fear crossed his face and he jumped to his feet. "Oh no… Oh no… I have to tell him before they do… I can't let him find out that way!"

"Find out what, Harry?"

Harry didn't reply, instead running from the room and back down the hallway. He took the stairs two at a time and missed the last one, skinning his knees against the rough wood of the floor. He scrambled back to his feet and continued back down the hallway, taking the next set of stairs a little slower. Finally, he was in front of the kitchen—the doors were closed but Harry didn't pay that any mind as he burst into the room.

There were a few people in there, but Harry ignored them. There was something important he had to do, but he couldn't remember what. People were looking at him.

"Harry?" Remus asked quietly from behind him, a calm hand on his shoulder. The twins slipped into the room too.

"I don't remember." Harry frowned. "It was really important. Oh well!" He shrugged.

Remus sighed, looking around and meeting the sneering gaze of Severus Snape. "I believe you said you had information for Professor Snape."

Harry frowned again. "Information?"

"Yes. You said you had to tell him something before anyone else did."

"Oh." Harrys' eyes flickered to the dark eyes of the potions professor, who was watching calmly.

"Something you have to tell me Potter?"

Harry grimaced. "I don't like that."

"Excuse me?"

"Potter. I don't like that. I think I'll change my name—to Steward… that's a good name…"

Snapes' frown deepened. "A touching sentiment, I am sure."

"But how will I know who I am. What if I forget that I'm not Potter anymore? Can you lose your name?"

"I am not sure, Mr. Potter. Is that all?"

"No! That bloody well is not all. I'm thinking. There was something important." His eyes flickered to Dumbledore, pausing on the bright blue robes the old man was wearing. "I like blue! But…" He frowned at Dumbledore. "I don't like you at all. I don't remember why."

"Harry." Lupin began calmly. "Why don't we come back to see Professor Snape later when you remember what you need to tell him?"

Harry nodded, looking back at the dark eyes. He was suddenly somewhere completely different—

_Bellatrix Lestrange was hovering over him. Her wand was pressed firmly to his throat and her eyes were shining. "What do we have here? The bloody boy savior, afraid of cupboards? How precious!" She threw her head back and laughed. "What else is hiding in that head of yours?"_

_Harry tried to brace himself, but at the shout of 'Legilimens' he was thrown back into his own mind—images dredged up, some of half-forgotten beatings he had earned when he was almost too young to remember. Others showed him working desperately in the garden, somehow knowing that if he didn't get all the work done he wouldn't be getting dinner that night—again. _

_Then, Bellatrix had seemingly gotten bored. She started poking in sections of his mind that he mentally dubbed the 'dark corners.'_

_Dreams he had long kept to himself were suddenly on the forefront of his mind—accompanied by memories of occasions when he had watched his potions professor in a less-than-casual way. _

_Bellatrix was dancing when she withdrew from his mind again. "You want to fuck Severus Snape!? That is so twisted! I love it! Just wait 'til dear Severus hears. He'll be happy to oblige—make you bleed! Make you scream!"_

Harry blinked back to the present. Everyone was watching him, eyes wide. He looked back at the potions master, whose eyes flickered knowingly as Harry struggled to form words. "I remember."

"Very well Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded. "I am not a coward." His voice was calm and flat.

"Your point, Mr. Potter."

"I have sexual fantasies about you." Harry announced loudly. He watched Snape closely, waiting for a reaction.

"I was already aware of that little tidbit, Mr. Potter."

"Oh. Damn." Harry frowned. Then he turned and danced from the room, oblivious to the shocked looks on the faces around him.


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Severus had not expected to have the time to stop by Grimmauld Place before the Dark Lords' meeting. But things had gone very smoothly at the manor—so much so that he had a couple hours to spare at least.

The whispered conversation stopped when he stepped into the kitchen. Albus was there, looking worn and listening calmly to Narcissa Malfoy. Draco was seated next to his mother, fidgeting silently. Lupin was leaning over the table, head resting on his arm as he listened to the conversation. Severus knew at a look that the werewolf had been crying. Across from him, Tonks was sitting completely rigid—her normally pink hair was a dull brown. Minerva was standing by the counter, pouring herself a drink. From her disheveled appearance, Severus would guess it wasn't her first.

"Ah Severus. You're early."

Severus nodded, taking a seat between Draco and Tonks. "Yes. It went better than I expected. No one is any the wiser." He turned to Narcissa. "I took the liberty of bringing some items for both of you." He took the shrunken trunks out of his pocket. Draco's hand shook as he took it, but he smiled briefly.

"Mrs. Malfoy was just filling me in, with a little help from Draco about exactly what sort of ordeal Harry has been through the past few days." Albus leaned back in his chair, fixing his solemn gaze on Severus—the gaze that made him want to start squirming like he had when he was still in school and facing the headmaster after testing out his new curses on Potter and Black.

"I doubt I could tell you more than what Narcissa or Draco have told you. The boy was there for three days. When he wasn't being tortured, he was kept locked in a cupboard. There was very little variation. Bellatrix can't figure out how he got the upper hand."

Albus nodded. "That is to be expected. I didn't even know about the extra wand." His eyes flickered to Lupin. Severus raised an eyebrow at the werewolf, who huffed.

"I had Moody give him Sirius' wand. Thought he might like to have it. Of course, I didn't realize it would be so important right off the bat."

Severus nodded. "It's probably wise that Potter carry an extra wand. If these past few days have proven anything—we can't become complacent."

"Speaking of which, how the bloody hell did they even get a hold of him?" Tonks finally spoke, turning her angry gaze to Severus. "Did you find that out?"

"I did. Apparently the boys' muggle family made a pit stop and allowed him to remain in the car. From there, Amycus Carrow simply snatched him and apparated him back to Malfoy Manor."

There was silence for a few minutes.

"Did we really make it that easy for them?" Lupin muttered. "Wasn't anyone watching?"

Albus shook his head. "It would have been fine if they had gone straight home."

Severus snorted. "Muggles just don't understand the subtleties involved in magic. You can waste your breath all you want explaining about blood wards, but if they can't see them, then it just doesn't exist in their mind."

Albus nodded. "Yes. I suppose that is true. Well said, my boy. Now, I'm going to have you take a look at Harry—see what you can do for him. He's in quite a state—sometimes here, sometimes not. He's still in quite a lot of pain, I believe."

Severus nodded. "I have some nerve regeneration potion that should help. However, you need to realize that there's only so much we can do with potions and magic. The mind is a very powerful thing—too much pain will cause a split from reality that creates a barrier from the pain. If he's been pushed past that point there is absolutely nothing that I can do for him."

"I understand that. But I don't think he has been pushed that far—dangerously close, yes. But I still think he'll make a full recovery."

Screaming broke out overhead, and Lupin leapt to his feet. "I shouldn't have left him!" He was out the door in a flash.

There was silence for a minute, before Severus suddenly blurted out. "Tell me you didn't leave Potter alone."

"Of course we didn't!" Tonks bit out. "Fred and George were keeping an eye on him."

"That's encouraging."

"Oh Severus, don't grumble. Fred and George were doing a marvelous job of keeping him calm when he came stumbling into the shop."

"Yes. I'm sure. Great minds think alike, right?"

"Severus!" Minerva snarled.

They were interrupted by the door slamming open. Potter stumbled into the room, looking wildly around. He was wearing a long, blue nightshirt and his knees were scratched up.

"Harry?" Lupin slipped into the room behind Potter, followed closely by the Weasley twins.

"I don't remember." Potter was frowning. "It was really important. Oh well!"

Severus sneered, catching Lupin's eye as the man calmly prodded Potter. "I believe you said you had information for Professor Snape."

"Information?"

"Yes. You said you had to tell him something before anyone else did."

"Oh." Snape frowned as Potter looked at him. The boy was confused—that was certain. But he was having a lot of trouble believing that this was the worst of it after three days spent on the wrong end of Bellatrix Lestrange's wand. "Something you have to tell me Potter?"

The boy pouted. "I don't like that."

"Excuse me?"

"Potter. I don't like that. I think I'll change my name—to Steward… that's a good name…"

Severus felt his frown deepen, and finally started feeling a hint of worry. The boy was very close to being incoherent. "A touching sentiment, I am sure."

"But how will I know who I am. What if I forget that I'm not Potter anymore? Can you lose your name?"

"I am not sure, Mr. Potter. Is that all?"

"No! That bloody well is not all. I'm thinking. There was something important." Severus had to bite his tongue to keep from snarling at the rude tone. His eyebrows shot up when Potter was apparently distracted by Dumbledore's bright robes. "I like blue! But…" He frowned at Dumbledore. "I don't like you at all! I don't remember why."

"Harry." Lupin began calmly. "Why don't we come back to see Professor Snape later when you remember what you need to tell him?"

Severus chose not to say anything as the boy nodded, glancing back at him. Harrys' green eyes suddenly glazed over and he went rigid. He stayed where he was, frozen for a few second before blinking rapidly and looking around with wide eyes. He turned his attention slowly back to Severus, who couldn't help but soften slightly as he gazed at the traumatized boy.

Harrys' voice was soft. "I remember."

Severus nodded. "Very well Mr. Potter."

"I am not a coward."

Severus could only blink at the calm, matter of fact voice. "Your point, Mr. Potter?"

The boy very nearly shouted his next revelation. "I have sexual fantasies about you."

Snape felt his face heating up as the boy continued looking at him. "I was already aware of that little tidbit, Mr. Potter."

"Oh. Damn." Potters voice had returned to the eerily calm manner he'd adopted before. Then he turned and twirled as he slipped out of the room.

Severus hissed as all eyes turned to look at him. "Don't look at me! I have no control over misguided adolescent fantasies." He felt his blush deepen.

Beside him, Tonks giggled. "Well, no one ever accused Harry of being normal, now did they?"

"Definitely not." Both twins agreed. "Harrys going to be mortified when this is all over and he realizes everything he's spouted off." They quickly turned and followed the wayward boy back upstairs.

"How did you know that!?" Lupin asked incredulously. Draco started shaking with laughter, and Narcissa looked torn somewhere between amusement and horror.

"Bellatrix saw fit to inform me." Severus muttered, still trying to fight the blush off his face.

"Ahh. Don't be embarrassed Severus. You're a teacher—it should come with the territory!" McGonagall butted in, giggling.

"You just heard Tonks admit that Potter is not normal—so how would this situation ever be considered so." Severus snapped, turning back to the headmaster who was _twinkling_ at him. "I do have a deadline."

Albus sobered immediately and stood. "Of course. Come."

Severus rose and followed him out the door, prickling in annoyance when Lupin followed. They trailed up the stairs, listening carefully. They didn't hear any sign of the boys.

"Fred? George?" Dumbledore called softly.

"We're in here!" The shout came. Severus frowned as they entered into the bedroom. Potter was sitting cross legged in the middle of the floor, head bowed and staring at his hands with barely concealed wonder. He looked up when they entered.

"I have opposable thumbs."

"So you do, Harry." Albus smiled softly, glancing at Severus. "Tell me what you need."

"I have all I require with me. But I feel I should give fair warning—my manner is going to seem extremely harsh—but I assure you it is very much necessary. I require that no one try to intervene, or Mr. Potter will be at risk of further mental damage."

"What do you mean?" Lupin butted in, eyes shining angrily. "If you hurt him—"

"I am going to have to induce a certain amount of distress. It is imperative that we bring Mr. Potter into the present—unless of course you would rather he remain in his current state permanently." Severus looked pointedly at the boy, who was now admiring his wiggling toes. He felt rather than saw Lupin shudder beside him. "If you don't think you can stomach it, I suggest you leave." He flicked his eyes towards the terrible two—who exchanged a glance and wordlessly left the room. A second later, Lupin followed.

"That went smoother than expected." Albus smiled, clapping a hand down on Severus' shoulder. "I'll leave you to it." Then he was gone, leaving Severus to the still smiling boy.

Severus kneeled next to the boy, who glanced at him in interest—his green eyes lit up as he smiled fondly. "Hi! I'm Harry—Harry Potter. My favorite color is blue."

"That's very nice Mr. Potter." Severus said gently. Green eyes were still staring at him with apparent interest.

"You have very pretty eyes. They're so… black…"

Severus blinked. "Thank you Mr. Potter. I have some questions for you that I need you to answer."

"Alright!" Harry shifted, pulling one knee up to his chest and leaning his chin against it. His eyes never left Severus.

"I need you to tell me what happened while you were at Malfoy Manor."

The green eyes blinked at him, and eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. This wasn't going to be easy. "You spent three days there, Mr. Potter. Bellatrix Lestrange was there. Do you remember?" He watched closely as the green eyes darkened a bit, and Harrys' face paled.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Surely you remember. How could you forget? She tortured you and locked you in a cupboard for three days." Severus reached out and grabbed the boys' chin to keep him from looking away. The small body started trembling, and his eyes started to fill with tears.

"You were tied up, completely helpless while she used the cruciatus curse on you—over and over again."

Harry suddenly jerked away, scrambling backwards across the floor until his back hit the wall. "Please… Don't…"

Severus followed him, voice stern. "Harry, look at me!" He reached out and grabbed the boys chin again when he refused. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears slowly slipping down his face. "Look at me!"

Green eyes blinked open, flicking up to his face before focusing on the wall behind him.

"Tell me about the cupboard." He leaned closer, blocking the boys' view so he was forced to meet his eyes. "If you don't tell me, I'll be forced to find out myself."

"No! Please… I can't!" Harry tried to pry his hand away, but Severus pushed the trembling arm away impatiently.

"Speak, Mr. Potter."

A shuddering sob escaped from the boy, who squeezed his eyes shut again and slumped against the wall. Before Severus could reprimand him, he started talking.

"The cupboard—it was small—small and dark… I couldn't move… but then I could… I hated it—I wanted out so bad—but when I wasn't locked in…" His voice faded.

"Keep going."

For a moment, Severus feared he would have to pressure the boy harder, but he simply took a deep, shuddering breath and crumpled further in on himself. Severus could barely make out his quiet voice.

"It hurt—so bad… I couldn't see… I couldn't think… I didn't know where I was…" The boy swallowed over another sob. "_She_ kept laughing at me… I couldn't stop screaming… and then—then I…" He fell silent again.

"Continue."

Harry shook his head, bringing his knees up to his chest. He sobbed loudly, suddenly screaming and writhing as his body convulsed. Severus grabbed the boys' shoulder and he screamed louder.

"No! Please! No more… I'm sorry. Just put me back in my cupboard!"

"Harry! Look at me!"

Harry obeyed, blinking furiously. His pupils were blown wide.

"Do you know who I am?"

Harry nodded, breath hitching in his throat at the movement.

"Tell me."

"Severus Snape."

"Good. Where have you been for the last three days?"

Another sob. "In a cupboard. In Malfoy Manor."

"Good." Severus hesitated. "What happened to you while you were there?"

The boy started sobbing again, shaking his head and trying to crawl away. Severus growled, grabbing both the boys' shoulders and shaking him. "Answer me!"

"I-I-I was t-t-t-tortured-d-d-d…" The boy was starting to convulse again, but Severus kept his firm hold.

"How did you escape?"

"I-I-I… I don't know! I had Sirius' wand… and then… entrails… I was covered in blood…"

Severus shook the boy again. "Yes. You were. What did you do to Bellatrix?"

The boys' eyes suddenly grew wide and he retched. Severus ignored it. "I'm waiting for an answer, Potter."

"I cursed her! I cursed her! I left her to die…" He shuddered again, sobbing violently and trying to get away from Severus. Severus didn't release his grip.

"Very good, Harry."

The trembling boy took no notice.

"Look at me Harry." Severus growled when the boy shook his head, and the green eyes snapped up to his face. "I know it is hard, but I need you to remember. Do you understand? I need you to keep remembering. Do you understand me?"

Harry nodded, breath hitching.

"Good. Do you know where you are now?"

Harry shook his head, eyes roving the room and widening. "Sirius' house."

"Good. Do you know how you got here?"

Harry blinked at him. "No Sir."

"That's alright. It doesn't matter. You are safe here. Do you understand that?" Severus sighed at the boys nod. "Very good, Harry. I'm going to give you a potion to fix your nerves. Its' going to hurt, but I promise it will pass. I want you to focus on where you are, and remember that you are no longer in the cupboard, and Bellatrix Lestrange is very far away. Can you do that for me, Harry?"

Harry nodded and Severus released the boys' chin. He pulled out his wand and Harry flinched violently. "I'm not going to hurt you, Harry." He silently summoned a vial of the nerve regeneration potion, jumping slightly at the soft voice.

"You never call me Harry." The boys' eyes were trained on the vial in his hands, refusing to look up at him.

"That I don't." Severus agreed. "Don't get used to it. It is unlikely to ever happen again. Brace yourself Mr. Potter. I need you to inhale this."

Harry nodded, and Severus waited until the boy breathed out to uncork the vial and hold it up to his nose. He watched as the smoking blue vapor disappeared and reached out to restrain the boy before he started thrashing.

Instead, the boy went rigid and stopped breathing.

"Fuck!" Severus swore, pulling the boy forward into his arms. "Keep breathing!" He demanded softly, nearly slumping over in relief when the boy gasped brokenly. "Good! Again." The boy complied, a sob breaking through this time. "Good boy. Keep breathing." Severus allowed himself to relax a little as he talked the boy through breathing. After a few minutes, the body went limp in his arms and his breathing returned to normal, though he was still sobbing quietly.

"Harry?"

"Thought you weren't going to call me that again?"

Severus nearly smiled at the smart-ass comment. "Very well, Mr. Potter." He stood carefully, pulling Harry heavily to his feet and carefully laid him down on the bed. He snatched up another potion from his little stash and sat on the edge of the bed. Green eyes blinked open to look at him.

"Do you remember?" Severus asked vaguely, feeling the wave of triumph when the boy nodded. "Good. I'm going to give you a large dose of dreamless sleep. Do not fight it. You need to sleep. You should feel infinitely better when you wake up."

Harry nodded again, wordlessly swallowing when Severus tipped the vial into his mouth. Green eyes blinked once, twice and closed and the boys' breathing evened out.

Severus sighed in relief, standing and watching Harry sleep for a second. The boy's nightshirt had ridden up, and Severus frowned as he took in the back of the boys' thigh. It was lined with scars—very old, faded scars but Severus had no problem recognizing them as belt marks. He swallowed down several questions and instead conjured a blanket to cover Harry with—it was simpler than trying to wrench free the blankets already on the bed.

"Well!?" Severus jumped when he stepped out of the room and was immediately face to face with Lupin.

"Get out of my face! He's sleeping. He'll be fine when he wakes up."

Lupin sighed, obligingly stepping back as he squeezed his eyes closed. It was obvious to Severus that the other man had to refrain from pulling him into a hug.

The Weasley twins apparently had no such qualms, however, and he was suddenly being squeezed between the two.

"You're the best!" They both said in unison, even as Severus pushed them roughly away.

"Do not touch me!" Severus straitened his robes. He turned to the smirking headmaster. "I have to go."

Albus nodded. "Good luck. Thank you, Severus."

Severus ignored the man and swept wordlessly down the stairs, letting the door slam behind him as he left Grimmauld place—his mind already on the upcoming meeting with the Dark Lord.


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Harry woke up slowly, gradually becoming aware that he was lying on a soft bed, underneath a softer blanket. He yawned loudly, sitting up and squinting at the dark room. He could hear soft breathing from the other side of the room.

He stood up slowly, wincing as he stretched. He was aching all over, and his bladder was about to burst. He silently treaded towards the small sliver of light that outlined the door, feeling for the handle. The door squeaked a little as he opened it, and he had to blink rapidly as the light hit his eyes. He instantly recognized the hallway as Grimmauld Place.

Closing the door softly behind him, Harry made his way to the bathroom. He frowned as memories slowly started making themselves known in his head, but pushed them back as he locked the door on the bathroom.

'How did I get here?' He asked himself, quickly relieving himself and washing his hands. 'And what am I wearing?' He had no clue where the nightgown had come from. Shrugging, he turned off the tap. He didn't exactly feel bad—but he didn't feel great. He was absolutely starving, and his muscles ached with a vengeance.

He slipped back into the hallway, listening closely. The house was silent, and Harry guessed that it was still pretty early.

Harry gasped as the past three days suddenly crashed into his mind. He leaned heavily against the wall as he remembered _everything_. Every vivid detail since the Dursleys had made that unplanned stop.

"Fuck." Harry whispered hoarsely, pressing his palms to his eyes. It felt like a horrible nightmare—but somehow he knew it wasn't. If it wasn't real, he'd have been woken up by his aunt screeching at him to make breakfast.

Trembling slightly, Harry slowly made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. His throat was parched, and his stomach was gnawing at him. He vaguely recalled the last time he ate—on the Hogwarts express.

He pushed the door to the kitchen open, freezing when he interrupted a soft conversation between two people he had never imagined he'd see at Grimmauld Place. He didn't have his glasses, and had a feeling that he was never going to see them again. However, the blurry figures were still unmistakable. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, but Draco and Narcissa Malfoy were both still staring at him when he looked again.

"Er… Hello?" Harry said awkwardly, coming fully into the kitchen and letting the door swing closed behind him. He shifted from one foot to the other, wishing he was wearing something more substantial than a night shirt. It made him feel exposed. Harry quickly averted his eyes from the pair, rubbing the back of his head. "Um, I don't mean to be rude, but what the hell are you two doing here?"

Draco snorted, leaning back in his chair and glaring at him. Narcissa shifted uncomfortably. "Severus saw fit to remove us from our home as we seem to have betrayed the Dark Lord."

Harry blinked, feeling the blood rush to his face along with a rush of shame. "Oh. Yeah. Um. Thanks for that, by the way." He quickly went to the cupboards and started searching for something to eat. He heard the conversation pick up behind him again in a whisper, but didn't try to listen.

The best thing he could find to eat was some bread, though he though he hit the jackpot when he found some honey to go with it. He started some water for coffee and sat down with the full loaf and started slathering honey on the first chunk of bread. He was uncomfortably aware that the Malfoys were watching him as he tore into the bread.

"Hungry, Potter?"

Harry glared at his blonde rival and spat with his mouth full. "Ravenous. Haven't eaten in three days."

This caused another tense silence, and Harry swallowed forcefully. The kettle started whistling, and he quickly got up to mix himself some instant coffee. He turned awkwardly to his two silent table-mates. "Would you like some coffee? Or tea?"

Narcissa stood gracefully. "Tea would be lovely." She slipped up to the counter as Harry pulled a box of teabags out of the cupboard and found a couple extra mugs. She silently accepted them when they were full, taking them back to the table.

Harry fidgeted as he sat back down with his coffee, taking a sip and sputtering as the drink burned the piss out of his tongue.

"Nice."

Harry chose not to respond to Draco this time, instead focusing his full attention on his rather pathetic meal.

After twenty minutes of awkward silence, the door opened and Remus walked in. His hair was sticking up in the back, and his sleep shirt was wrinkled. He blinked at the scene in front of him.

"Good morning." He yawned, fixing his eyes on Harry. "I didn't expect you to be up yet."

Harry shrugged. "I couldn't sleep anymore."

Remus nodded, mixing himself a cup of the instant coffee and sitting down carefully next to Harry. Harry tensed when the older man fixed him with a stare. "How are you feeling?"

"Alright, I guess."

Remus nodded, looking down at the mug in his hands. He looked back up after a second. "How much do you remember?"

Harry stiffened even more, biting his lip as he considered it. "I'm not sure. Most of it I think. It only really gets fuzzy at the end. I can't figure out how I got here."

Remus nodded. "Tonks, Fred and George brought you from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. They had to stun you to get you to calm down. Tonks startled you when she got there, and you tried to curse her."

Harry winced. "Oh."

"She's okay. Don't worry—you were using one of the Weasleys' fake wands."

Harry sighed, putting his head in his hands.

"So. If you're back to normal I don't feel bad about asking this." Draco suddenly leaned forward, grinning at Harry. Harry jumped a little and glared as a smirk slowly emerged on the blondes' face. "How much do you remember about your little outburst last night?"

"Outburst?" Harry frowned, thinking hard. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Draco!" Narcissa snapped. "Don't be rude."

Draco snapped his mouth shut, shooting his mother a glare and crossing his arms. However, the amused glint was still in his eyes.

"What outburst?" Harry turned to Remus, who was studiously examining the table. "Remus?"

"You sort of—blurted some things out last night." Remus muttered.

"What sort of things?" Harry glanced between Remus, who looked thoroughly uncomfortable to Narcissa, who was fighting a blush. Finally, he turned back to Draco. "Malfoy?"

"Are you sure you want _me _to tell you?" Draco smirked, looking as if Christmas had come early. "You came bursting in here to tell Severus that you have sexual fantasies about him."

Harry froze, eyes widening. He jumped to his feet as the blood rushed to his face. "You're lying!" He looked at Remus, who was still carefully avoiding his eyes. "Bloody hell!" He turned and fled from the kitchen, running up the stairs and back into the bedroom. He slammed the door shut behind him, breathing heavily.

Now that he thought about it, he did remember that. "Bloody Fucking Hell! I said that in front of _everyone_!?" He groaned, leaning against the door and allowing himself to sink to the floor.

"You sure did!" Harry jumped as the room suddenly lit up. Both Fred and George blinked at him. One of them was lying on a cot in the corner; the other was sitting up in the second bed.

Harry groaned again. "I'm never going to be able to show my face again—ever!"

"Don't worry Harry. Its' not that bad."

"Yeah. It could have been worse."

"A lot worse."

"You could have been explicit."

Harry let his head bang back against the door and closed his eyes. Suddenly, he was on his feet again. "Great Merlin! I told him he has pretty eyes!"

Harry glared at the snickering twins. "I don't think I like you two very much right now."

"We know."

Harry slammed the door loudly as he left the room. He crossed his arms as he stomped down the hall and into the drawing room. It was thankfully empty.

"Oh. Snape is so gonna kill me." He plopped down on the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in his arms. "What was I thinking?"

"You weren't." Harry jumped, whirling around to face the voice and reaching for a non-existent wand. Dumbledore was in the doorway, looking at him with his twinkling blue eyes. "I'm glad to see you're back."

Harry squirmed underneath the gaze, dropping his eyes to the floor.

"You seem to be feeling fine, but I suppose it's still proper that I ask. How are you?"

Harry shrugged. "As well as can be expected, I think."

"I see. I'm glad. You showed amazing strength these past few days, Harry. I'm very proud of you."

Harry pushed down the rush of anger he felt towards the man, slowly sitting back down.

"Well, I'll leave you to your thoughts. Its' easy for us old folks to forget the embarrassments of youth—though no doubt we thought such instances marked the end of the world when it happened."

Harry felt his face flame redder, and ducked his head into his arms. "I don't even want to think about what its' going to be like facing Snape in potions—if I even get into his NEWT class…"

"Oh. You won't have to wait until then. He'll be by later today to check on you. After all, there is no one better suited to treat you—you'll find that no healer has quite the experience that Severus Snape has. Just thought I'd give you a heads up."

Harry squawked. "What!? You can't be serious!?" But the headmaster was already gone. "Great. Just my luck. Why can't I have a normal crush!?" He grumbled, still squirming as he vividly went through the last night in his head. "Gah!" He promptly buried his face back in his arms and rested them on his knees.

Harry was only left to wallow in his embarrassment for a few minutes before Remus came in. Harry peaked at him for a second before hiding his face again.

Remus didn't say anything, instead choosing to sit down next to him. Harry fidgeted a little, sneaking a glance at the older man who was calmly staring into the empty fireplace. Finally, Remus turned to Harry with a somber expression.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry slumped. "What's there to talk about? I got it in my head that it I had to tell him first because it would be so much worse coming from Bellatrix—go figure he already knew. And it doesn't get much worse than screaming it at the top of my lungs in a room full of people."

Remus blinked at him. "I-I didn't mean that."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Then what did you mean? What—Oh." Harry hid his face back in his arms. "I don't want to talk about _that_." He tensed momentarily at Remus' hand on his shoulder.

"If you do need to—when you need to talk, I'll listen." He sighed. "Will you be alright? I have some stuff I have to take care of for the Order, but it can wait…" He trailed off as Harry shook his head.

"Thank you. But I'm fine." Harry smiled weakly as Remus stood. "Be careful."

"I will. You too. The twins are still here, if you need anything. I imagine the Malfoys will be here for a few days as well. I'm going to be out of contact for a couple days, but I'll see you when I get back."

Harry nodded, staring at the carpet as Remus left. He suddenly felt a brief flash of anger—he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He didn't need to be treated like a child.

He jumped as the door burst open, leaping to his feet and reaching for the wand that he knew wasn't there. The twins froze at the action, and Harry felt his face heat up again. "Sorry. Little bit jumpy, I guess."

"That's alright, Harry." Harry couldn't tell if it was Fred or George.

"Yeah. We'd be more worried if you weren't jumpy."

They plopped down on either side of him as he slowly sat back down.

"So. Harry. How long have you fancied the delightfulness that is Severus Snape?"

"Yes. Inquiring minds want to know."

"And mum is worried about you, and going on about the tragedy of young, unrequited love."

"What!?" Harry leapt to his feet, face flaming anew. "She _knows_ too!?"

"Of course. Tonks went to give her an update last night—"

"Which is perfectly logical considering everyone has been scared to death—"

"And she couldn't help but express her worries that you were even more addled than we previously thought."

"So mum sent us a letter asking us to find out if you were in fact mooning after one Severus Snape—"

"Or if that was just a delusion resulting from your stay with Bellatrix."

Harry was shaking when they finally finished their little spiel. He clenched his fists, trembling as he hissed through gritted teeth. "Does she seriously, think—do _you_ seriously think that I'm so wrecked from _that_ that I—what—that I was hallucinating? That I had been confunded?"

"That's not what we meant—"

"Oh. No. There's no need for explanation." Harry spat, walking towards the door. "I know I'm a freak—known it all along." He slammed the door behind him, brushing down the hall and up the stairs to the next level.

"Harry! Wait—that's not what we meant!"

Harry ignored them, slipping into the room that used to belong to Buckbeak—and before that Sirius' mum. Harry slammed the door closed as he saw the heads of red hair coming up the stairs.

"Harry, you're not supposed to be by yourself. We're supposed to keep an eye on you."

"I don't need anyone to keep an eye on me!" Harry yelled through the door. He felt a wave of anger when the door started to open anyways, and started screaming. "What's so different now!? No one is ever there when it matters—its' always just me! So what changed!? Leave me alone!"

"Harry—"

"GET OUT!"

The twins were suddenly thrown backwards into the hallway, and the door slammed shut. The wall shook from the force of it, and Harry backed away until his knees hit the back of the dusty bed. He heard muttered cursing on the other side of the door, and pulled his knees up to his chest.

He was trembling, suddenly feeling exhausted. A tremor ripped down his spine and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. He squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of pain engulfed him and then slowly receded. He slowly became aware that the twins were still outside the door.

"I can't open it!"

"Did you try 'alohomora?"

"No. Thought I'd just try to wish it open. Of course I did."

"Harry! Please open the door. We're sorry."

Harry didn't reply, instead crawling back further on the bed until his back was against the headboard.

"Look, we didn't mean that you are—that you can't—arg! We're sorry. Look, if you really like Snape we're okay with that."

Harry remained silent, squeezing his eyes shut as tears filled his eyes. His silence seemed to work, because after a few minutes he heard the sound of footsteps going back down the stairs. He almost called out an apology, but decided he needed his solitude more than he needed to ease the growing shame in his chest at treating Fred and George like that. They were just being themselves—but they had struck a nerve—a nerve that Harry hadn't known was exposed.

Some part of Harry knew that he wasn't as much of a freak as his family had always told him—but only a small part. His first year at Hogwarts had proven that he was doomed to never be normal. Random strangers knew more about him than he knew himself—and the fact that he'd survived a killing curse when he was just a baby had made him an anomaly. He could talk to snakes, had a bizarre mental connection with the darkest wizard the world had ever known, and was prophesized as the only person that had a hope of defeating Voldemort. That categorized him as a freak—even by wizarding standards. The realization that he was attracted to the same sex had just been the icing on the cake—and the fact that he was lusting after Snape was the freaking cherry on top.

"And add to that the freakish newfound ability to withstand more torture than a pair of aurors—hell I might as well just get the word tattooed across my forehead." Harry snickered. "Wait—don't need to do that. Its' already been engraved in my chest."

Harry grimaced as he realized how morbidly sarcastic he was being. He rubbed absently at the scar on his chest—a gift from Dudley's friends when they had caught him wandering the last summer. Dudley had nearly shit a brick when he found out about it—sure that Harry was going to set his 'murderous' godfather on him in his sleep.

Harry sighed. He didn't have many secrets—it was nearly impossible to keep anything secret when he was being watched constantly. Everyone just absolutely _had _to know about the little quirks that made the _boy-who-lived_ tick. It was disgusting. So the few secrets' Harry did have were big—and he guarded them close.

'Should have tried harder in occlumency.' Harry thought bitterly. Bellatrix had easily swept aside the hasty shields he had tried to erect—jarring Harry much more than Snape ever had. For the first time, Harry could appreciate the challenge it must have posed to the potions master. Trying to teach an unwilling student, who you hated and hated you in return (or so you thought), while not taking advantage of the situation by completely obliterating the unequipped mind—it had to have been a hell of a daunting task. Harry had always thought Snape had been brutal—but after Bellatrix, he knew he had only been exposed to the tip of the iceberg with mental magic. He'd been damn near helpless against Bellatrix.

Though somehow, just like he had during his occlumency lessons, Harry had managed to protect a few memories from the plundering gaze tromping through his head. Bellatrix had not seen the few memories Harry had relating to the Order—which Harry was very proud about. Nor had she managed to unearth Harrys' memory of the prophecy. For all Harry knew, Voldemort was still unaware of the full lines of the prophecy—and he meant to keep it that way.

But he had purposefully sacrificed deep secrets to keep that little bit of information hidden. He had done the same thing during occlumency lessons—picking and choosing when it became very apparent that he would not be able to block Snape out easily. There were just things there he couldn't bear for the potions master to see.

But now, he'd give all that up for a chance to redo it and stop himself from seeing the last vision Voldemort planted.

Harry stiffened as his thoughts once again turned back to Sirius. He'd hardly thought about him at all—not that he thought for a minute Sirius would ever blame him considering what he'd been through. But it gnawed at him all the same. He shouldn't be allowed to forget, even for a moment—but he had. Sirius hadn't crossed his mind at all since he'd been snatched up.

'I knew he wouldn't come rushing in to save me this time.' Harry swallowed over the lump in his throat. 'But I didn't think anyone would. I always have to do things myself—otherwise they won't get done. I need to stop that.' But even as he thought that, he knew he wouldn't. In the end, it was always him—alone and only seconds away from death. That wasn't going to change any time soon. And how many people were counting on him to do just that in the end anyways? To face Voldemort as the last hope of victory. He was destined to be alone, wasn't he?

Harry wiped angrily at his tears. So be it then. He didn't need anyone else. He'd be damned if he got anyone else killed.

Voices interrupted his thoughts, and Harry tensed as the handle on the door jiggled.


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Severus wasn't sure how he felt—it had been a long and brutal meeting. He was still more than a little shaky from the Dark Lords' wrath and multiple crucios. And he hadn't even been in the direct line of fire.

Bellatrix had been sobbing and babbling by the time the Dark Lord had ordered her out of his sight—he hadn't taken the news that Potter had been captured and allowed to escape well at all. The news that two of 'his' had betrayed him to help the boy-wonder had just fueled his rage. He was less concerned about the death of the Carrows—better that the weak were weeded out early.

Severus had been ordered to make sure Bellatrix was still 'in order' after the meeting, and he hadn't returned to his home until late in the morning. He'd barely sat himself down with a bottle of good, old-fashioned muggle whiskey when Albus had come bursting through his floo with the request that Severus swing by Grimmauld Place to check on Harry later that morning.

Severus had grudgingly agreed. Now, he was sitting in the kitchen at the blasted house, listening to the Weasley twins ramble on some long pointless story about why the bloody boy-who-lived had locked himself in a room—alone.

"So what you idiots are telling me is that you decided to upset a boy that less than twenty-four hours ago was a babbling invalid, and he managed to get the upper hand on you in his attempt at solitude." Severus sneered. "Does that about sum it up?"

The boys both reddened, but nodded.

Severus was on his feet in a flash, hooking them both by the ear and dragging them from the kitchen and away from Narcissa—who was stubbornly refusing to retire to the room she had been given.

In the hallway, Severus released them. "And pray tell, what garbage were you spouting at him that made him react in such a manner?"

Once again, the boys exchanged a look that communicated more than Severus would ever be privy to, and both boys looked at the floor.

"Well, he just got so flustered—"

"—and he's basically family—"

"He completely took it the wrong way—"

Severus cut them off with well-aimed cuffs to the back of the head. "Imbeciles! Do you realize that boy just spent three days in the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange—three days being tortured! Do you realize how dangerously close he was to completely losing his mind? Or are you too dense and sheltered to realize what that means!?" Severus hissed at their wide-eyed looks. "Let me put it in perspective—Frank and Alice Longbottom—seasoned aurors the both of them—were tortured for a day. They are currently confined to the long-term ward at St. Mungos—and will be until they die. They have no clue who they are, where they are—they don't even recognize their own son. Mr. Potter has lived through three times what it took to break them."

"Blimey—He didn't seem that bad—"

"Just thought he was a little shook up—"

"And he was acting normal this morning."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I seriously doubt that."

"He was!" Both boys burst out. "You can ask Remus! Or Draco! He's already started arguing with Draco!"

Severus crossed his arms, glaring until both boys fell silent and stopped fidgeting. "Where is he?"

"Up there."

A growl was enough to send the boys scrambling up the stairs. "He's in Buckbeak's room."

"That is, Mrs. Blacks' old room."

Severus followed the twins up the stairs, frowning as he mulled over what they'd told him. "How is it he locked the door? Did you not think to unlock it with magic?"

"We tried. He's magicked the door shut and we can't figure out how to get in."

"What!?" Snape grabbed the nearest twin—he couldn't tell which one and spun him around. "You gave him a wand!? Dumbledore has assured me that the boy would not have access to one until we were certain that he was stable! Which we aren't!"

"He doesn't have a wand!"

Severus let out a slow breath. "Then how could he have possibly—tell me exactly what happened."

Severus fought hard to hide his shock as the twins quickly filled him in. They didn't seem to realize exactly how profound it was that Potter had intentionally locked them out in a fit of anger—they assumed it was accidental magic that most wizards and witches experienced.

Severus remained silent as they climbed the last flight of stairs. They motioned to the door on the left, and backed away as he approached it. He tried the handle—it turned but the door wouldn't budge. He pulled out his wand. "Alohomora."

Nothing happened. A glance at the twins showed them smirking in that infuriating manner that was a mixture of 'told-you-so' and 'did you think we were _that_ stupid?'

Frowning, Severus turned back to the door and knocked. "Mr. Potter?" There was no reply, though he thought he heard the squeaking of bedsprings. "Open the door."

A few seconds later, he startled at the soft voice that apparently came from right on the other side of the door.

"Go away."

Severus growled lightly. "I cannot, Mr. Potter."

"I'm fine!" The voice was a little more insistent than before.

"Mr. Potter. If you do not open this door this instant, I am going to blast it in."

A few seconds of silence, and Severus was already at the end of his patience. He had just raised his wand when the door creaked open and he caught a glimpse of a slight figure slipping back to the large bed in the middle of the room.

Severus took a deep breath before striding into the room. It was rather filthy, but that didn't seem to bother the young man that was sitting in the middle of the enormous bed. Green eyes watched him wearily from underneath a fringe of hair.

"Harry?"

The boys' eyes flicked to the door, where the twins were hovering. "What?"

"Um. We're sorry."

"I know."

"Alright—we'll leave you to it."

"Unless you two need a chaperone—" Whatever else the horrid little beasts were going to say was cut off by the door slamming shut again. A howl on the other side of the door suggested that a finger or toe might have borne the brunt of it.

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes and turned his attention back to the teen on the bed. Harry was staring at the worn coverlet, tracing the flower pattern. Despite the gloom, Severus was amused to note that his face was flaming red.

"Impressive, Potter."

The boys green eyes flicked up to him for a minute before quickly dropping again. "What's impressive, sir?"

Severus cautiously approached the bed, watching Harry tense as he did so. "The fact that you're already recovered enough to be so focused on something that is very much trivial when compared to the rest of your ordeal—or the fact that you managed to focus your energies to shut out the monsters without the use of a wand. Take your pick."

Harry frowned up at him, finally meeting his gaze. "I got angry."

"Yes I figured as much—still—very few witches and wizards could show control in the way they express their anger."

The boy continued to frown at him. "I've been able to do that before—though most of the time its' kind of random. I thought that was normal—" He cut off abruptly. "No. It isn't normal. Of _course_ it isn't…" His voice dropped too low for Severus to hear the continued mutterings.

"That aside, Mr. Potter, I didn't come here to chat and give you praises—that you deserve any at all is rarity in and of itself." Severus was surprised when his snarky comment earned him a small smile. "Something amusing, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I just… I guess I should have known I could count on you to stay the same."

Severus frowned. "How do you mean?"

Harry fidgeted. "I don't want to be babied. I mean—they've been either treating me like I'm going to shatter or like I'm nuts."

Severus sat cautiously on the edge of the bed, not taking his attention off the obviously uncomfortable boy. He was fretting the edge of his nightshirt, twisting the material mercilessly. "That is to be expected, Mr. Potter. What you went through—I don't know of anyone who has withstood half of what you went through and come out still able to string two words together."

Anger flared in the green eyes as they turned to look at him. "I'd prefer if that wasn't aired to the world."

Severus blinked, arching an eyebrow. "Don't want to gloat about how the Dark Lords' most favored servant was unable to break you? That at least is something worth bragging about over the preposterous adolescent endeavors you are so fond of."

Harry snorted. "Yes. Because I want to people to know that I can withstand an unspecified amount of torture—maybe I should make a sign. 'Unbreakable Harry Potter: who will take the challenge?'" The boy made finger quotes in the air—a muggle thing that Severus wasn't very keen on. "Or better yet, I'll go straight to Neville and parade in around in front of him saying 'Neener neener neener! I'm fine, sucks about your mum and dad though." Harry gritted his teeth, blinking rapidly to hold back tears.

"Enough." Severus held up a hand. "You've made your point."

Harry turned his head away, fingers once again twisting nervously around the hem of his nightshirt.

"Alright, Mr. Potter. Back to the reason I'm here." Severus drawled slowly, feeling the slightest bit of satisfaction when the boy huffed at the subtle insinuation that he'd been off topic. "Have you been feeling any pain?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm a bit sore." Green eyes flicked towards him then came to rest back on the coverlet.

"Do not lie to me, Mr. Potter."

"When I first came in here I had a few seconds of pain that made me want to cry. It passed and I'm fine now."

Severus narrowed his, but accepted what the boy was saying as the truth—mostly. "Very well. There is probably some lingering nerve damage—I can give you another dose of the nerve regeneration potion and maybe something for the muscle pain."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know about that. I mean—the pain isn't that bad."

"Very well. Just the nerve regeneration potion." Severus fished the last vial out of his pocket. He'd had to use a vial on himself and two on Bellatrix the previous evening—and he'd probably be in need of more later. Harry sat up as Severus leaned towards him. "You need to inhale this—and I must warn you—the effects are rather painful."

"I remember." Harry muttered, frowning. The blush suddenly made a reappearance on his face, and green eyes flickered downwards.

Severus was slightly taken aback. "You remember? How much?" He narrowed his eyes as the boy squirmed under his gaze.

"Everything."

"I require a less vague answer, Mr. Potter."

Harry brought a knee up to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around it. Severus once again caught a glimpse of a scarred thigh but forced his eyes back to the green ones watching him wearily. "What do you want to know?"

"Tell me what you remember since you arrived here."

Harry shuddered slightly, blush deepening. "Well, I don't actually remember how I got here, but that's because I was stunned. I woke up in the bedroom downstairs—everything seemed kind of—I guess foggy is a good way to think of it. I had a lot of trouble concentrating. Anyways, the twins were in the hallway… I didn't really understand much of what was happening, or where I was, or even who I was—except I kept having moments where everything hit at once…" His voice trailed off, barely above a whisper. "I got scared, and locked myself in a cupboard—but that scared me even more because I couldn't figure out how to get out—then Remus was there and everything seemed better. When he mentioned that you were downstairs—" At this, the boy buried his face in his hands and stopped speaking.

Severus valiantly lost the battle to not smirk at the boys' obvious embarrassment. "Continue."

Harry squirmed. "I charged downstairs, flung the kitchen door open and forgot why I went down there—until I remembered. Then I screamed out that I have sexual fantasies about you and left."

The boy was still hiding his face, but Severus could still see the blush on the back of his neck. "An interesting development." Green eyes peaked out between fingers to glare at him. Severus sighed. "I more interested in your memory, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded, taking a deep breath and trying to school his expression before looking back up. "There are some things that I know I don't remember—specific things—but I remember everything as a whole. There are really no missing pieces that need to be filled in."

Severus frowned. "How much do you remember from the manor?"

Harry tensed. "Oh. I remember _all_ of that. I had no clue how long I'd been there until Fred told me."

"You remember what you did to Bellatrix and the Carrows?"

Harry nodded, scratching at the back of his neck and biting his lip. "Entrails expulsion, uncontrollable laughter, boiling blood, suffocation and spine removal." He flicked his gaze back to Severus, holding it this time. Severus raised an eyebrow at the barely concealed horror.

"Do you not think that they deserved such things?"

Harry shook his head, and then nodded quickly. "Yes—they deserved them. But…" Severus waited patiently as the boy stumbled over his words. "I still feel dirty."

Severus blinked at the confession. "That is hardly surprising, Mr. Potter. It is not easy to kill."

"Its' not that." Harrys' breath hitched. "It's the way I did it—I left them to die slow—I wanted revenge… doesn't that make me just as fucked up as them?"

Severus didn't have good answer for that. "We all have to live with what we've done, Potter. However, you should consider that the three of them—Bellatrix in particular—wholly enjoy causing pain—but they never had any intention of killing you. You left them to die horrible deaths, true, but you were still a great deal more merciful than they would ever be. And, unless I am very much mistaken, you gained no pleasure from the act." Severus was barely able to stop himself from fidgeting when he noticed the boy crying.

"I know that—or I keep telling myself that. But when I think about it—I just stood there and watched them struggle—and I felt nothing. I didn't even realize what I had done until Mrs. Malfoy was looking at me—and she was scared, and disgusted, and I was covered in blood. I couldn't bear to look at them…"

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I myself thought it was rather poetic what you did to Bellatrix. Condemned to lie in a pool of her own entrails and boiling from the inside out, yet unable to stop laughing in spite of the pain. It was a shame that I had to fix her up."

"What!?" Harry suddenly jumped to his feet, swaying a little as he glared at Severus. "She's alive? _You_ saved her!?"

"I am a spy, Potter. To let the Dark Lords' favorite die without doing everything in my power to help her would in essence be a death sentence."

Harry paled, lowering his eyes. "I didn't think about that—I'm sorry…"

"You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Potter. As far as I'm concerned, Bellatrix Lestrange deserved everything you hit her with and more. It gave me no joy to salvage her from the brink of death."

Harry nodded, slowly looking up at the potions master. "I do have something to apologize for—while I'm thinking about it."

Severus raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.

"I wanted to apologize for those occlumency lessons—I never took them seriously, and I didn't try—you were right about that… I-I wasted your time, and mine…" He shifted from one foot to the other. "I was so angry, and I was too busy feeling ill-used and uninformed—and I'm sorry… and I'm sorry I looked into your pensieve—it was wrong…"

Severus narrowed his eyes at the fidgeting boy. "As much as I enjoy your prostration at my feet—why the hell are you bringing this up now?"

Harry glanced up in shock, probably at the mild curse falling from the potions masters' lips. Then, he shook his head and took a deep breath. "Bellatrix—her legilimency—it was excruciating..."

Severus was on his feet in a flash, grasping the boys chin and making him meet his eyes. "She performed legilimency on you? She is an unskilled Legilimens at best—she could have left you in complete shambles…" Severus let his voice trail off as the green eyes widened.

"I didn't know… I thought… I don't know… I always felt awful after our lessons, but that was nothing compared to how she did it…"

Severus slowly released the boys chin, fighting down a wave of nausea. "What did she see?"

Harry fidgeted. "You already know that, Sir." The blush was rising again on the boys' face.

"I am not referring to your deluded adolescent dreams!" Severus started pacing. "That is unimportant drivel! What of the Order—of my involvement with the Order? What about your interactions with Dumbledore? Did she see anything of importance!?"

Harry was already shaking his head. "No! Nothing like that!" He flinched back when Severus was suddenly in his face, towering over him. "I swear! I hid that!"

"And why should I believe you capable of such subtleties when you are incapable of simply clearing your mind and blocking out a mental attack!?"

Harry tried to take a step back, but Severus grabbed his arms. "Please stop. I don't know how to explain it—but I knew what I didn't want her to see, so I hid it. I hid it underneath the stuff that didn't matter, and she just brushed past it."

Severus felt his jaw drop a bit, but caught it. "You expect me to believe that you have mastered the specific skills of occlumency that take years of practice to obtain—skills I myself use to lie to the Dark Lord?"

Harry nodded, and then shook his head. "I don't know! I just did it—I've always done it. Except during occlumency lessons I was just hiding different things."

Severus finally let go of the boys' arms, feeling a small pang of guilt when he rubbed at the spots. "And what, pray tell, were you so busy hiding during our lessons?"

Harry fidgeted, but met his gaze with a raised eyebrow. "Dreams, Sir."

"What sort of dreams—never mind." Severus rolled his eyes as the blush returned to the boys' face. He pointedly looked away to give him time to compose himself. He was startled when he turned back and green eyes were studying him intensely.

"Are you alright, Sir?"

Severus sneered. "I am fine."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Severus cut him off. "My wellbeing is none of your concern, Mr. Potter."

Harry still looked like he wanted to argue, but simply asked. "So how do you want to do this?"

"Excuse me?"

Harry blinked. "Er… the nerve regeneration…"

Severus very nearly smacked himself, but instead sneered. "There is only one way to do it. Sit down."

The boy obeyed, and for a brief moment Severus was at a loss as to where the potion had gone. It was quickly remedied when a muttered 'accio' had it soaring from under the bed. He waited patiently for the boy to exhale before uncorking the vial and shoving it under his nose. He tensed as he watched the vapor disappear as Harry breathed deeply, waiting for the outburst of pain.

It didn't come. For a second he thought something was wrong with the potion until he noticed the slight trembling and Harry's breath hitched in his throat.

Severus waited patiently for the potion to finish its' round. It was not a pleasant potion by any means, and it couldn't be interacted with sleeping potions or pain reducers—that would poison a person. He could have stunned the boy as soon as he'd inhaled the potion, but that was a less than savory method.

At last, green eyes blinked open and the body relaxed. "I think I have a new least favorite potion—or at least second least favorite."

"And what is the first?" Severus asked carelessly, hardly listening to the answer as he shoved the vial back in his pocket and snatched up the boys' arm. He conjured a needle and pricked the boys thumb.

"What are you doing?"

"Testing your nerves. Did you feel that?"

"Yes." Harry frowned.

"Good. Tell me if you don't." He pricked one finger after another, noting that the boy didn't even flinch. "Are you sure you feel this, Mr. Potter. I'll be highly displeased if you are lying to me in some misguided attempt to prove your endurance through avoided medical attention."

Harry snorted. "I feel it. And I can't lie to you anyways."

Severus nodded. "So what is your least favorite potion?"

"Polyjuice."

Severus froze, the needle hovering a hair away from the skin on the inside of the elbow. There was already a trail of pinpricks leading up the arm. "And when have you ever tried Polyjuice potion?" He glanced up to see the boys' eyes widen and quickly look away. He remained pointedly silent.

"Could that be what you were brewing with the stolen boomslang skin in your second year?"

Harry gasped, snapping his eyes back to the potions professor. "What are you…?"

"Please spare me the shocked act, Mr. Potter. If you remember, Miss Granger was confined to the hospital wing for quite a while because she was foolishly careless in adding the last needed ingredient. I am a potions master—I know the effects of a messed Polyjuice dose."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "How come you never busted us, then?"

"I never found where you were brewing it." Severus said simply, continuing his prodding with a little more force. "And since we are on the subject of taboo knowledge, would you care to tell me where you learned the curses you used against Bellatrix and her lackeys?"

Harry shifted. "Same place we got the recipe for the Polyjuice potion."

"The restricted section." Severus frowned. "And how did you get permission to access such books?"

Harry snorted. "In second year, we just asked Lockhart—he didn't even look at the slip before he signed it."

"I see. And I'm assuming you haven't been able to use that method again. Who gave you permission to look up the curses?"

Harry coughed lightly. "Er. No one."

"Then how did you get the books out of the restricted section?"

"I… er… I snuck in to look at them."

Severus once again paused to look up at the boy. He was scratching the back of his neck sheepishly and staring at him from under his fringe. "That isn't possible—as I'm sure you found out in your _first_ year. The books have the equivalent of an age line shielding them. They scream when anyone under the age of seventeen removes them from the shelf."

Harry blinked. "Um… Well they didn't when I did."

Severus frowned. "It is highly unlikely, but it is possible the wards could have fallen. But that has never happened before…" He trailed off. He knew the boy wasn't lying to him.

"Um. Could it be because I asked permission?"

Severus' eyes flared. "You just said you didn't have permission!"

"Not from a teacher—or a person, actually. But I asked the books themselves. I mean—I know it sounds stupid, but I kind of asked them to let me read them so I can try and learn what I need to know to win this war…" Severus sneered as Harry shrugged. "Hermione was telling me once that the castle is almost alive—I think she called it transient—"

"Sentient." Severus hissed in correction. It was a surprisingly intuitive guess—and far more likely than the wards failing. "I suppose it is possible. However it raises certain concerns that you have so easily gotten around wards that have been successfully keeping students out for hundreds of years."

Harry grinned again. "So, the key to the restricted section is to be completely desperate and ask 'please.' I could easily sell that information."

Severus didn't respond, instead pricking the skin on the boys shoulder. "Are you certain you can feel this, Mr. Potter? You haven't reacted at all."

Harry shrugged. "It's not like it's unbearable. It just pricks a little."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Eloquent as ever. Remove your shirt, Mr. Potter."

Harry stiffened, causing the latest prick to pierce much deeper. "What!? Why?"

"I would have thought that was obvious. I need to continue the test." Severus barked, pulling the needle out of the skin and underlying tissue it had just broken into. He glanced at the boy, who was now rather pale.

"I'd actually rather not."

Severus frowned at the sudden change. Two seconds ago the boy had been nearly amiable, if a little sarcastic. There was really no reason for his sudden noncompliance. "And just what is the problem, Mr. Potter?"

"There is no problem." Harry hissed defensively, pulling his arm out of the potions masters' grip. "I'm fine. I don't need any more tests."

Severus stood, sneering as the boy did the same. He smirked at the crossed arms and set jaw, defiance flashing in the green eyes. "There is an easy way to do this, Potter. However, I can just as easily circumvent your stubbornness with force—I assure you it would be unpleasant."

Severus was expecting the boy to grumble, but acquiesce. He was not ready for the weary, weathered look to pass the boys' face, followed by the hardened acceptance of a fight and the declaration. "You can try."

Severus only hesitated for a moment, wondering at the wisdom of coercion so soon after intense trauma, but the challenge struck directly at his pride—and he couldn't back down without losing authority and the effectiveness of future threats. So he whipped out his wand and vanished the nightshirt with a flick.

He didn't get a chance to gloat, however, or even see the results before he was plunging headlong across the room. As he struggled to his feet, he caught a glimpse of the blankets from the bed trailing out the door. The door slammed closed even as he lunged at it, and slammed his face against it.

"Damn brat! I'm going to incinerate him!"


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Harry was shaking as he rushed out of the room, the blankets from the bed serving as the only cover for his nakedness. He heard the potions master scrambling to his feet, and another wave of panic washed over him. He was already on his way down the stairs as the door slammed shut.

"Damn brat! I'm going to incinerate him!

Harry didn't give the enraged man another thought as he hurried down the stairs and slipped into Sirius' room. It was very dark, and he leaned against the door, breathing heavily.

He didn't hear Snape coming down the stairs yet, and hastily lit a lamp and went to the bureau to find some clothes. He choked up a little as he pulled out a long sleeved grey shirt that had been one of Sirius' favorites. It smelled slightly of dog, which made him smile. It was a little long on him, and he had to roll the sleeves up a bit. Next he pulled on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms—red and gold. He had to tie the drawstring as tight as it would go and roll the legs up a few times—they hung dangerously low on his hips all the same.

Now that he was clothed, Harry cut off the lamp and shoved the blankets under the bed. He went back to the door to listen, even as he heard Snape shouting upstairs.

"Potter! Get your ass back up here and let me out of his room!"

Harry snickered, and heard a door open down the hall.

"Is that Snape?"

"Yeah. What do you reckon has him so upset?"

"Gee, I wonder."

"Reckon we should go find out what's wrong?"

"I think he'd kill us if we didn't."

Harry listened as the twins slowly crept up the stairs. When they reached the top, he heard them call out.

"All right in there Professor!?"

"Find Potter and drag him up here to open this door!"

Harry was shaking with silent laughter, and he knew the twins were too. However, they obediently started back down the stairs.

"Reckon we're going to find him?"

"No, I don't reckon we will. Besides, it might be better to let Snape cool off for a while before we set him loose."

"I heard that!"

Harry couldn't help it. A snort of laughter burst out of him and he heard the twins pause a little ways past the door.

"Did you hear something, George?"

"Nah. I didn't hear a thing."

Harry smiled, gratitude washing over him as the twins continued on their way down the hall. He leaned against the door and sank to the floor.

Truthfully, he'd been terrified when he'd challenged Snape—the man was a duel-master and Harry was unarmed. He never thought he'd be able to get the upper hand.

But the instant he'd realized he was naked in front of the man, full-fledged panic had taken over and he'd just reacted. His heart was still pounding.

"He has no business forcing me to do anything." Harry grumbled, wrapping his arms around his knees. "I told him no. He should have listened."

Harry shuddered. It was kind of ironic—the person he was lusting after was also the last person he wanted to see him naked. Go figure. Harry shook his head. 'Nope. Definitely not normal.' He couldn't bear to know what Snape would say if he saw the scars that proved he was a weakling that couldn't even take on one stupid muggle.

"Maybe I am a coward." Harry muttered, closing his eyes to the continuing darkness in the room. "But I don't want _him_ to know that."

Then Harry frowned. He did feel a little bad—it wasn't exactly Snapes' fault. And the man had looked thoroughly worn and exhausted—yet had continued to treat Harry.

Harry swallowed. "And I tossed him across the room and locked him in." He listened again, but couldn't hear the other man.

Harry sat in silence for a while, content to let the potions master settle down a bit. But then his conscience got the better of him and he shoved heavily to his feet. It wasn't right to leave him locked in.

He cautiously opened the door, glancing up and down the hall before he silently flitted to the stairs. He hesitated for a second—the longer he waited the angrier the potions master would be.

The closed door stood unmoving, and Harry squinted at it before silently approaching it. He reached for the door handle, but jerked his hand back. Taking a deep breath, he took a step away from the door.

"Professor?"

There was silence for a few seconds, then the low drawling voice came, deceitfully calm. "Mr. Potter. How lovely it is that I am graced with your presence."

Harry gulped, but didn't answer.

"Open this door this instance." The voice turned harsh, and Harry flinched. "I am not in a very forgiving mood, Mr. Potter."

"No more tests." Harry blurted out, taking a step closer to the door.

"Do not make demands of me! You will open this door right now or so help me—"

"No! You listen to me!" Harry snapped, clenching his fists and narrowing his eyes, even though the man on the other side of the door couldn't see him. "I want your word! No more tests. If not, I'll walk away and leave you there."

There was silence, and Harry braced himself for the harsh refusal. He wouldn't really, but he was desperately hoping Snape wouldn't call his bluff.

"Very well. You have my word."

Harry started at the soft voice, but sighed in relief. He reached out and turned the handle, pressing himself back against the wall as the door swung inward.

Snape was glaring at him as he strode out, his wand clenched in his fist. Harrys' eyes focused on it for a second before flitting up to the burning black gaze. He flinched when the man suddenly reached out and grabbed the collar of his shirt.

"Get in there!" He snarled, dragging Harry towards the door and pushing him roughly into the room. Harry stumbled a bit, but caught his balance as the door shut with an ominous click. He swung around to face the professor, who advanced on him quickly.

"You promised!" Harry backed away, scrambling backwards over the bed in an attempt to get away from the incensed man.

"I lied." Snape hissed, smirking as he raised his wand.

"Wait!" Harry leapt out of the way, and the vanishing spell hit the headboard—the varnish was removed. "This isn't fair! What gives you the right!?"

"The headmaster gave me the right when he asked me to treat you, you ungrateful little cretin!" Snape roared, aiming another spell at him. Harry dodged it, but just barely. The curtains disappeared, letting more light flood into the room.

"What do you want from me!? Do you want me to beg!? I just spent three days begging—wasn't that enough!?" Harry spat out desperately as he backed into the corner. He desperately tried to blink back the tears welling in his eyes.

Snape paused, eyes narrowing. "You cannot guilt trip me, Mr. Potter."

Harry shook his head, feeling the tears slide down his cheeks despite his best efforts. He was trembling as the man raised his wand one last time. "Please don't…" He braced himself, wrapping his arms around his waist in an effort to make himself smaller, but the spell didn't come.

"For Merlin's sake!"

Harry didn't look up at the outburst, but couldn't stop the flinch when footsteps approached him.

"I am not going to hurt you, Mr. Potter."

Harry shook his head, wiping sloppily at his face. A hand grasped his chin and forced him to look up. Black eyes stared hard as he blinked rapidly.

"Give me a good reason."

Harry felt his breath hitch in his throat, and swallowed thickly. "Because I asked you not to." He held the gaze as the older man hissed sharply.

"That does not sound like a good reason to me."

Harry jerked his chin out of Snapes' hand. "Really? Is too much to ask to want a little control over my own body?"

"I see." The dark voice was softer this time, and Harry jumped when a hand regained its' grip on his chin. "Mr. Potter, look at me."

Harry obeyed, albeit reluctantly. He didn't quite meet the potions masters' eyes, instead opting to stare at his finely arched eyebrows.

"It is not my intention to force you into something unpleasant—my only concern is for your health. However, if it bothers you that much we can forgo the rest of the test."

Harry sagged in relief. "Thank you."

"Do not thank me for this Mr. Potter. If there is still existing nerve damage we could be allowing for permanent damage by omitting this test. Make sure you understand that before blindly refusing to continue."

Harry mentally cursed, but steeled his resolve. "I'll just have to live with the possibility."

Snape frowned, and took a step back. "Very well, Mr. Potter."

Harry took a deep breath, willing the pounding in his heart to recede. His arms were still wrapped protectively around his waist, and he fought back a tremor that wracked down his spine.

"Sit. You need to calm down."

Harry obeyed wordlessly, plopping down on the bed as cool fingers found their way to his neck. They pressed lightly against his pulse.

"You got far too excited over something so trivial, Mr. Potter."

Harry shrugged, "I guess I'm just stupid like that." Harry glanced up when there was no reply. Snape was staring at him with interest.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter. What exactly was it that scared you so bad?"

Harry quickly looked away, biting his lip.

"It obviously wasn't the pain—I would still swear that you couldn't feel the needle except you're a terrible liar."

Harry chuckled a little at that. "It wasn't the pain—pain doesn't bother me."

"I highly doubt that."

"It doesn't!" Harry snapped. "I'm used to it."

Snape was suddenly kneeling in front of him. "And how exactly does one get used to pain? Particularly enough so that you can withstand three days of the cruciatus curse with minimal damage?"

Harry sputtered. "I don't know what—"

"Does this perhaps have anything to do with the scars you are hiding, Mr. Potter?"

Harry felt his jaw drop. "I'm not—its' not… no! I don't know what you're talking about!?"

Snape sneered. "We've already established that you are a terrible liar. Why then, do you continue to try to lie to me?"

Harry glared, crossing his arms. "I wouldn't have to lie if you could take a hint and learn to mind your own fucking business!"

There was silence at this. Abruptly, Snape stood up and turned on his heel. His robes billowed as he swept towards the door. Harry watched him stop, throwing a cold glare over his shoulder before jerking the door open. The door slammed shut with a finality that left Harry feeling tired and empty.

'What the fuck is wrong with me!?' Harry pressed his palms into his eyes. 'Don't I need someone to believe me about the Dursleys?'

He shook his head. It wasn't like it mattered now. He was safe at Grimmauld Place. There was no point worrying about it.

Harry was suddenly struck by how tired he was. He considered returning to the bedroom downstairs, but decided against it. He wasn't quite ready to face the twins. Yawning, he stretched out on the bed he was already on, letting his eyes fall closed.

* * *

Severus growled as he swept away from the room and the infuriating boy. He wasn't sure why he was so angry—it was totally like Potter to throw offered help back in his face. Severus froze for a second and frowned at the thought. What exactly had he been offering to Potter anyways? Condolences? Understanding? Compassion?

He snorted at the last thought. The day he showed compassion was the day the Dark Lord took a vow to never harm a living creature, and the day Albus Dumbledore stopped interfering in everyone else's lives.

But wasn't that why he had been trying to get through to the boy? Only to have the little shit tell him to 'mind his own fucking business.'

Severus frowned again, pausing outside the drawing room. It wasn't exactly like his approach had had the most—finesse. But he was unused to trying to comfort anyone—let alone the feckless son of his school enemy.

'Why do I even care!? So what if the brat has a few scars—it isn't like he's never done anything to deserve a sound whipping.' But even as Severus told himself that, he couldn't bring himself to truly believe that the boy was deserving of _that_ kind of punishment. A well-deserved whipping was one thing—but to be left scarred like that? And how many other scars was the boy hiding?

Severus shook his head. Potter was right about one thing—it wasn't any of his business. It wasn't like the boy didn't have others to go to. Hell, the boy was the freaking headmasters pet! If he did have a bad home situation there were plenty of people willing to help.

With a sigh, Severus pushed through the door to the drawing room—only to nearly jump out of his skin at the voice of Albus Dumbledore.

"Severus, my boy! Everything went well with Harry, I hope?"

Severus quickly composed himself, glaring at the blue-eyed menace who was sitting comfortably on the couch. The man was smiling, and his eyes were twinkling in that infuriating manner.

"The boy is a menace! He's worse than his father! He's proud and arrogant, and too dense to know what's good for him!"

Albus continued smiling. "Yes. I heard about your misfortune of being locked in Buckbeak's room. Sit! Tell me what happened."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, but sat down and recounted the past few hours. By the time he was finished, the headmasters' usual twinkle had given way to full-fledged sparkling.

"Splendid! He did that without a wand!?"

Severus nodded. He didn't really need a verbal answer, but asked the question anyways. "You knew this would happen?"

The headmaster only shook his head. "I didn't know—had guessed—but I didn't know for sure. I had a sneaking suspicion that Harry could do wandless magic from the time he told me about how he set a snake on his cousin at the zoo. Spectacular tale—you'll have to hear it one day."

Severus fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Are you going to tell him? He seems to think it's just normal accidental magic."

"I won't tell him just yet—I have a feeling it still needs a little time to develop. He's only able to do it when he's angry or scared—and intermittently at best. No. I think he still needs to be pushed before we can count on it."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "What kind of push? What could possibly be a bigger stressor than what he's already been through?"

Albus shook his head. "You'd be surprised at what truly scares Harry, Severus. I can almost guarantee that he was never truly scared while he was in Bellatrix's hands."

Severus couldn't stop the snort. "You're mad."

"No. Hear me out. You'll notice it wasn't until afterwards that he started displaying the power—when he was angry at the Weasleys—and when you scared him by demanding him to take off his clothes—from what I hear tell the boy is shy to a fault—very self-conscious. If you listen to the rumor mill, he's earned himself the title of 'prude.' Reminds me of a boy I once knew…" His eyes twinkled in amusement.

Severus' frown deepened. That didn't sound right at all. Why would Potter guard his body so closely—he was a freaking celebrity. He shook his head and returned his attention to the headmaster.

"You're trying to tell me that Potter is more afraid of exposing himself to someone than being tortured to madness and eventual death."

"Well, not in exactly that sense—but yes. Pretty much."

"You're mad."

"Yes. But I'm also right."

Severus allowed himself an eye roll. "If you're sure. So what do you intend to do about it?"

Albus' blue eyes twinkled dangerously, but he said quite calmly. "Nothing. I don't have to do anything. He's progressing fine on his own."

Severus nodded, standing up again. "I'm exhausted, Albus. I'm going to go home and go to bed. I can come back tomorrow to check on him, if you like."

"That won't be necessary. He's returning to his family tomorrow morning."

"What!?" Severus snapped. "You can't be serious! They were the reason the boy got snatched in the first place!"

"All the same. They've been briefed, and they've assured me the same mistake won't happen again."

"It's too soon, Albus. The boy may be remarkably well for the circumstances, but he is still unwell! What will happen if he has a relapse and curses his muggle family—even with half of what he hit Bellatrix with!?"

Albus shook his head. "Unfortunately, his return has already been delayed dangerously long. If he doesn't step foot in that house soon, the wards will fail. Don't worry—he won't harm his aunt, uncle or cousin."

Severus could think of no other argument in the face of the headmasters' sheer determination. Instead, he grabbed a handful of floo powder off the jar on the mantle and threw it into the flames. A short, dizzying trip later he was stepping into his own drawing room—to come face to face with Peter Pettigrew.

"What the bloody hell are you doing in my home!?"

"The Dark Lord sent me to assist you." The rat-man squeaked.

Severus glared at the little man, but didn't respond. It simply meant that the Dark Lord was tired of having the little shit underfoot—and Severus couldn't blame him. "I need no assistance. You will stay out of my way. You will not disturb me. Last, but not least—if you step a single foot into my lab I will dismember you and use your innards in my newest poison. Am I understood!?"

Pettigrew squeaked. "I understand."

"Then be gone! Go scamper around the garden, you miserable little rat!"

The man was gone in a flash, and Severus grinned in triumph. "And keep your paws off the mandrakes!" He let the smirk slide off his face as he made his way to his bedroom. His thoughts returned to Potter.

Something the headmaster had said worried the potions master. 'Worried about Potter!? As if.' He tried to shake the feeling, but it wouldn't quite leave. 'He needs to be pushed.' How much more could Potter possibly be pushed?

Severus frowned, throwing himself down on his bed. He nearly moaned in pleasure as the softness engulfed him. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. But one thing struck him, even as he was giving in to the exhaustion and the sleep he so dearly desired. Albus Dumbledore had a plan—the man always had a plan. The fact that he had a plan for Potter shouldn't bother him as much as it did—but for whatever reason he couldn't help but wonder what exactly the headmaster had in store for the golden boy. Whatever 'push' the boy still needed was not likely to be a pleasant one.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Harry groaned as he woke up. He had slept long and hard—his bladder was telling him that much. He squinted around the room. It was still dark out.

Stretching, Harry padded silently out of the room. He didn't hear a sound as he slipped down the stairs and into the bathroom. After relieving himself, he peaked into the drawing room. It was empty, and the clock on the mantle told him that it was 4:28. Obscenely early, but still—he had slept a long time.

Heeding his rumbling stomach, Harry crept down to the kitchen. He was surprised that it wasn't empty. Narcissa Malfoy was staring into a mug. Harry paused briefly in the doorway.

"Morning."

She started, looking up at him. "Good morning."

Harry quickly turned his attention to food. He didn't really know his way around the kitchen at Grimmauld Place—he'd never been the one to cook there. However, some digging yielded oatmeal and brown sugar. He fished out a pot and set it boiling.

Turning back to Narcissa, he was struck by the bags under her eyes. "Are you feeling alright?"

Her blue eyes flickered to him for a moment, and she nodded. "I'm just having a little trouble adjusting to the fact that I am now homeless."

Harry winced, turning back to his oatmeal. "I'm sorry." It took some searching to find a bowl, and even more to find a spoon. At last, he sat down with a bowl of the goop and started shoveling it into his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Narcissa shift uncomfortably.

Swallowing his latest bite, he glanced over at the fidgeting woman. "Is there anything I can get you?"

She shook her head.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Blue eyes widened in shock, before a gentle smile made its' way onto her face. "I don't think there's really much to talk about. I have betrayed the Dark Lord, and I'm now in the situation of finding a safe place for me and my son. It is a rather straight forward problem."

Harry shrugged. "Why can't you stay here? It's safe enough."

She smiled in the infuriating way that Harry took to mean he was overlooking the obvious. "That option has been discussed with Dumbledore—however I am disinclined to provide some of the information he has requested of me in return for sanctuary."

Harry felt a burst of white hot rage. "That's bullshit. Sorry." He added seeing her wince at his harsh tone. "You can stay here as long as you need. And Mal—Draco too. No strings attached."

She smiled again. "That is very kind of you Mr. Potter, but I don't think even you have such persuasion over Dumbledore."

"What the hell does Dumbledore have to do with it? It's my house." Harry pointed out, jabbing at his oatmeal with his spoon. "You have my permission to stay here regardless of whether you give _him_ the information he wants."

Narcissa raised a delicate eyebrow. "And why would you help me like that, for nothing in return?"

Harry laughed. "Do I really need a reason to go against Voldemort?" She flinched at the name. "And if that isn't reason enough, you can take it as me trying to pay you and Draco back—you know—life debt?" Harry fidgeted nervously as her gaze turned speculative.

"Very few wizards still honor life debts, Mr. Potter."

"Please. Call me Harry." She blinked at him.

"Alright Harry. You may call me Narcissa."

Harry grinned. "Alright Narcissa. You don't have to decide right this second, but the offer is still there. Of course, there will have to be some rules set seeing as how there will be meetings here and all that—but other than that you can pretty much have free reign."

Narcissa smiled. "Thank you, Harry."

"It's no problem at all." Harry smiled easily in return, turning his attention back to his now cold oatmeal with a grimace.

"Why don't you make use of your house elf?"

Harry looked up at the woman in confusion. "House elf?" His gaze suddenly darkened as realization hit. "Kreacher…"

Narcissa's eyes widened a bit, and she thankfully fell silent.

The silence lasted the rest of the time Harry was eating his oatmeal. He briskly washed his bowl out and set the kettle to boil.

"Tea?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Harry collected her mug and pulled out the box of teabags. He carried both cups of hot tea back to the table, and Narcissa nodded her thanks.

"I hope this doesn't seem rude, but—how would you ensure that we can stay here? That is…" She cleared her throat delicately, taking a sip of her tea. "What I mean is, are you going to be able to persuade Dumbledore and all his lackeys?"

Before Harry could answer, the door burst open and both him and Narcissa jumped to their feet. Mad Eye Moody clunked into the kitchen, magical eye whirling in agitation.

"Good! You're awake. We have to go."

Harry blinked at the grizzled man. "Go? Go where?"

"I'm to take you back to your relative's house. Where do you think? And people tell me you're intelligent…"

Harry felt as if the floor had dropped from under him. "What!?"

"Dumbledore's orders. You have to be returned to them today or the blood wards will fail."

Harry gaped at the man. "You can't be serious! He's sending me back there? Now?"

"We've already established this! Now lets' go!"

Harry glanced at Narcissa, feeling slightly sick over the knowing look in her eyes. She opened her mouth, but a quick shake of his head kept her silent.

"Just give me a minute, will you? I'm kind of in the middle of a conversation." Harry snapped.

"There's no time for that! We need to go now! We're in the middle of a war, boy. We don't have the luxury to wait just so you can finish up a _conversation_." To emphasize his point, Moody limped over to Harry and grabbed his arm unmercifully where it was already bruised from Snape's manhandling. Harry yelped as the man started dragging him toward the door, and tried to pull out of his grasp.

"Did you not hear me? I'm in the middle of something!?" Moody ignored him and he couldn't dislodge the hand from his arm. He felt a stab of anger. "Damnit! You can wait one fucking second!"

In a flash Moody had snatched his hand away from Harry, staring at his blistering fingers. Next second he had been flung out of the kitchen and the door had slammed shut behind him. Harry vaguely heard the portrait of Mrs. Black start screaming.

"Sorry 'bout that." Harry muttered, turning back to Narcissa. She was staring at him with wide eyes. A sudden idea hit Harry, and he called out "Kreacher!"

The ragged little elf appeared with a pop. "Master called?"

Harry bit down the disgust and loathing that rolled over him as he stared down at the ugly creature. He took a deep breath before he spoke. "Kreacher. Draco and Narcissa are going to be living here for as long as they want. You are to serve them, but you are not to leave the house. They are not allowed into the meetings."

Kreacher seemed to dance with glee. "Kreacher will gladly serve Mistress Narcissa and Master Draco." He suddenly frowned. "But what will Kreacher do if that muggle-loving blood traitor says they have to leave?"

Harry felt his eye twitch. "You can tell Dumbledore that I said they could stay and if he doesn't like it he can sod off."

Kreacher's eyes widened, but he bowed. "As master wishes."

Narcissa was suddenly pulling Harry into a hug. He tensed, but patted her back awkwardly. She had tears in her eyes when she pulled away. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Harry felt his face flame, and shifted awkwardly. "There's nothing you can do."

"Have you told anyone?"

Harry just nodded. "Take care, Narcissa. Have a good summer."

"You too, Harry."

Harry gave her another smile as he went to the door. Moody was stomping impatiently on the other side.

"That temper of yours is going to get you into trouble one of these days, Potter." Moody growled. Harry was pleased that he didn't take hold of his arm again. "If the princess is ready to go…" He motioned towards the door.

Harry sighed, feeling the weight return to his chest as it had when he had first climbed off the train. He frowned at Moody. "I've lost everything. I don't have my wand, or my trunk—"

Moody cut him off. "I have your trunk. It was still in your pocket when you got here—not that I'm going to complain about a stupid Death Eater. I also have your wands—but you are not going to be getting those back just yet. Dumbledore is worried that you might hurt the muggles if they startle you."

Harry swallowed harshly over that news. "Oh. What the hell am I supposed to do if I get attacked?"

"That shouldn't be a problem, so long as you stay where you're supposed to." Moody shook his head impatiently. "Enough chitchat! Let's go!"

"Can I at least put some shoes on?"

"There's no time! We're leaving! Now!"

He stomped to the door, and Harry followed slowly. He felt worse than when he realized he'd been captured by Death Eaters. He felt another rush of anger towards the headmaster. Being sent back to the Dursleys at all was bad enough—but without a wand? Harry shuddered, and it had nothing to do with the cold air that washed over him as he followed Moody outside.

A short ride on the Night Bus later had Harry following Moody briskly up the walk of Number 4 Privet Drive. Harry hadn't said a word since they'd left Grimmauld Place. If Moody had noticed his depressed silence, he was ignoring it. Harry tensed as Moody knocked loudly on the door—and had to force himself to breathe as his uncle opened the door.

"Don't just stand there! The neighbors might see!"

Harry immediately ducked into the house, hearing Moody clunking along behind him. He swallowed down the dread that accompanied the sparkling clean house.

"Here." Moody shoved something in his hand, and Harry jumped. It was his trunk. "Still remember the password?"

Harry nodded mutely.

"Alright Dursley. Dumbledore already talked to you, so I'll keep this brief. The boy's not to leave the property—under any circumstance. If there's a problem, you should contact Arabella Figg and she'll contact the Order. You already have the boys' wands—keep them safe but at the first sign of attack make damn sure that the boy has them or you'll all be killed. Understand?"

Vernon grunted in acknowledgement, and Harry fidgeted as his uncle flashed him a predatory grin. He silently slipped out of the hall and up the stairs. His bedroom was just as he'd left it. Hedwig hooted in greeting from her cage on the desk.

"Hey girl!" Harry immediately went over to her. "You're here! And you don't look any worse for wear." Harry smiled as he opened the cage door and held out his arm for her. She hooted at him as he stroked her feathers.

"I wasn't sure what she normally eats, but she seems to like the mice a lot."

Harry jumped and spun around. Dudley was standing in the doorway watching him closely. Harry gave him a shaky smile. "Yes. She does like mice—she usually feeds herself—you know by hunting…" He trailed off uncertainly. "Thanks for taking care of her."

Dudley fidgeted nervously. "You don't look like you've been tortured for three days."

Harrys' jaw dropped, but he quickly snapped it shut. He kept his voice carefully even when he responded. "The cruciatus curse doesn't leave physical marks—it just causes every nerve in the body to explode in pain."

Dudley paled a little. "Oh." He looked down at his feet, kicking at the carpet. "I'm sorry about your godfather."

Harry felt the bile rise in his throat. "You-you know about that!? How?"

Dudley shifted. "An old man came and talked to us. He had a long white beard and was wearing purple robes—said he was the headmaster."

Harry nodded, feeling the numbness spread. Uncle Vernon knew that Sirius was dead—Harry wanted to scream. He was trapped, forbidden to leave the house, wandless and the one threat that had been his saving grace was no more. He was screwed.

Dudley waited for Harry to say something else, but at the sound of someone coming up the stairs he disappeared back down the hall. Harry quietly slipped Hedwig back into her cage and turned to face the door as his uncle marched in.

"So. You're still alive."

Harry nodded mutely, grasping the edge of the desk to keep himserasping the edge of hsi lf from flinching as his uncle advanced on him.

"The other freak is gone." His uncle smiled nastily. "So you're nuts now? Finally gone around the bend? I always knew it would happen. And got your criminal godfather killed in the process—good riddance."

Harry felt his face heat up. "You shut your mouth about Sirius!"

Vernon swelled, turning an impressive shade of purple. He clenched his fists a few times before grabbing Harrys' collar and jerking him close. "Now listen here, boy. You may think you're so high and mighty from going to that freakish school of yours—but I know better. I know just where to push to make you curl in a ball and cry yourself to sleep." He shoved Harry back against the desk. Harry didn't even wince when the edge dug into his hip with bruising force. He didn't take his eyes off his uncle as the man strode from the room. "I'd watch my mouth if I were you boy—otherwise you just might end up back in your cupboard."

With that, the door slammed closed and Harry sighed as the locks clicked into place. He slowly turned around, reaching out to stroke Hedwig through the bars of the cage. His trunk was on his desk, still shrunk. He left it there and flopped down on the bed. A great cloud of dust rose up from the movement, causing Harry to sneeze and start coughing even as he leapt back off the decrepit piece of furniture.

'Fuck them! And fuck Dumbledore too! I hate them all.' Harry thought bitterly as he instead sank down to sit on the floor. There was dirt and grit under his hands, and Harry sighed. Petunia probably hadn't even glanced in the room since the previous year.

At length, Harry unshrunk his trunk—carefully removing his school books and parchment and hiding them under the bed. It wouldn't do to have them locked away if Vernon decided to confiscate his trunk. With that in mind, Harry also fished out his photo album and invisibility cloak—hiding them in one of the rooms' vents. That would have to do. He pulled out his muggle clothes—some of the atrocities he'd had since he was eleven—and they still barely fit him. He snorted at that. Had Dudley really been that huge—or was he just that small?

"Probably both." Harry muttered under his breath. He hadn't exactly been well nourished throughout his childhood—he didn't doubt for a second that his growth had been stunted. He'd looked closely at the pictures of his mum and dad—he knew how tall Sirius had been and how tall Remus was. His father had been almost even with them, and he figured his mother would probably be able to look down on him if he were to face her.

Harry coughed again as he opened the wardrobe to put his clothes away. It was just as dusty and gritty as the rest of the room. He let out a violent sneeze and jumped when the door clicked open. Petunia was standing there with her arms crossed. "Downstairs. Breakfast." Was all she said.

Harry knew better than to argue—instead brushing some of the dirt off his pants as he followed his aunt down the stairs and into the immaculate kitchen. A carton of eggs and a mixing bowl sat on the counter. Piled next to them was a small pile of vegetables and a cutting board. On the table was a bag of oranges. Harry fought back the groan.

"Three omelets—and squeeze those oranges." Petunia snapped briskly, leaving Harry alone in the kitchen. Harry didn't bother to reply as he immediately started on the task—nor did he comment on the obvious hint that he would _not_ be eating that day.

With practiced ease, Harry cracked the eggs into the bowl, whisking them and adding a dash of salt and pepper. He then set to slicing up the vegetables.

He was in the middle of slicing a tomato when a tremor tore unexpectedly through his body. He cried out as his knees buckled and his elbow came down hard on the counter, sending the cutting board and bowl clattering to the floor. Loud footsteps signaled his uncles' approach, and the man grabbed him harshly by the arm.

"What is the meaning of this racket!? Look what you've done to the kitchen."

"No!" Harry wrenched himself out of his uncles' grasp, eyes wide and trembling violently. He bit back a sob. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please… No more! Just kill me…"

Harry sank to his knees, pulling roughly on his hair. He cried out when a big foot connected with his stomach.

"Get up! Now!"

Harry obeyed, timidly glancing around. Petunia and Dudley were staring at him—Petunia with obvious disgust as she looked at the scattered vegetables and raw egg on the floor. Dudley's eyes were wide with—Harry didn't dare think what it meant—worry.

"You've done it now! Made a mess of breakfast." Vernon's growl made Harry jump, and he backed away until his back hit the wall. "Get over here!"

Harry tried to evade his uncles grasp, but wasn't fast enough. Next thing he knew he was being dragged up the stairs and thrown roughly into his room. His uncle followed, towering over Harry where he had landed on the floor.

"Get up."

Harry shakily pushed himself to his feet, and hadn't even braced himself before the meaty fist had crashed down on his face.

Harry collapsed back to the floor, but his uncle didn't order him back up. Instead, his beady eyes had focused on Harrys' school trunk. He roared and grabbed it, carelessly hammering it into Harry where he lay splayed on the floor.

Vernon didn't say anything more as he dragged the trunk out of the room, stopping only long enough to slam the door shut and click the locks into place.

Slowly, Harry sat up—his head was still ringing from the blow and he had lost his breath when his trunk had crashed into him. He gingerly felt his quickly swelling eye, grimacing at the trickle of blood on his eyebrow.

Whatever he had been expecting when he'd walked up the driveway, this wasn't it. It had been a couple of years since Vernon had gone off on him that badly—but then his uncle was no longer afraid that Harry would turn him into a slug—in fact, he knew that Harry was defenseless.

Harry buried his head in his knees as a weak sob tore at his throat. This was just the beginning—it would only get worse. He knew how it would progress. A shake here, a well-aimed blow there—and before long his uncle would break out the belt again. Harry shuddered. 'And he might even make good on that promise to lock me in the cupboard.'

That, more than anything strengthened Harrys' resolve. He cautiously crawled under the bed—listening hard for any signs of his aunt or uncle approaching. A few seconds later, he was seated at the desk with a piece of parchment and a muggle marker. He blinked down at the blank parchment, considering how to start. His hand was shaking when he finally scratched out the first words.

_Remus,_

_I'm not sure how to explain this, but I need help. I have to get out of here. I don't know what Dumbledore told you, but don't believe a word he says. He's a liar and a bastard. Please come to the Dursleys as soon as possible and get me out of here._

_Harry_

Harry frowned at the finished letter, wondering if he was being too vague. However, he decided not to second guess it as he hurriedly tied it to Hedwig's leg and helped the owl squeeze through the bars on the window. He felt a sense of loss as she flew away—after all Hedwig was his constant companion.

'Oh well.' Harry shrugged, trudging over to the wardrobe to glance in the mirror. His eye was already turning a nasty shade of purple, and Harry sneered at his reflection before snapping the door shut with a click.

"Pathetic." Harry leaned his head against the cool surface of the wardrobe. "Can't even take on one ruddy muggle—how the hell am I supposed to take on Voldemort?"

He couldn't answer the question, and padded back to his desk. He stared in the direction that Hedwig had flown to, wishing he was already watching her fly back to him with a reply—with promises for his immediate removal—or at the very least of a quick visit. Harry knew he'd easily persuade the werewolf if he could only talk to him.

'But Dumbledore jumped through hoops to prevent that, didn't he? Won't he be expecting something like this?' Harry shook his head as his heart started pounding. 'Maybe—but Hedwig is a good owl. And it can't hurt to try, can it?'


	13. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

To say that Ronald Weasley was anxious would be an understatement. He was pacing madly around the kitchen, chewing viciously at fingernails that had long been reduced to the quick. He hissed in pain as he bit down a little too hard and blood started pouring from his gnawed cuticle.

"Calm down." Bills' voice came from the doorway as Ron rinsed the blood off in the sink. "Harrys' safe now. He'll be fine."

Ron glared at his oldest brother, but sat down at the table. Bill waved his wand and two mugs appeared. "Harrys' tough. He'll be fine."

Ron nodded in agreement. "I know… but three days! Bill! The Longbottoms didn't even make it through one!"

Bills' gaze hardened. "I know. However, Remus already told us that Harry is doing fine."

Ron was back on his feet in a second, resuming his pacing. "Fine is a matter of opinion—he's my best mate! He's been through hell and back already! This is just too much…" He trailed off, ignoring Bills' sigh.

"Sit down. You're making me dizzy!" Ginny snapped as she trudged into the kitchen. "We're all worried about Harry—but it doesn't help with you acting like a complete boob."

Ron growled in warning, keeping his pace around the kitchen. "You know there's good reason to worry, Ginny! You've seen Bellatrix! She's a complete lunatic!"

Ginny winced at the memory. "I _know_ Ron! Believe me, I know! But it will do Harry no good if you have a breakdown on his account!"

Ron's bellow was interrupted by green flames leaping up in the fireplace. In quick succession, Fred and George came stumbling out.

"How is he!?" Ron yelled, darting around the table to grab Fred's arm—or was it George? He couldn't tell.

"Nice to see you too, ickle Ronniekins."

Ron ignored the slight. "Well!?"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"Harry is fine."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief, but didn't relinquish his hold on his brothers' arm. "Define fine."

Both twins exchanged a look before Fred spoke up. "He's shaken—but that's kind of a given. He remembers everything—knows who he is and all that necessary stuff. He's jumpier than a frog in a snake pit—but I can't blame him for that."

Ron finally let go of his brother, sinking into the nearest chair. "Sorry." He mumbled as he saw George massaging his abused arm.

"No worries."

The twins sat down, grinning in appreciation when Bill set mugs in front of them with a wave of his wand.

"What's happening now?" Ginny asked. "Mum and Dad have hardly been home—and when they are they don't tell us anything…"

George nodded. "We don't really know all that much ourselves. Can't believe we still aren't allowed in the Order—we're of age, not in school anymore—"

"Not to mention we have a few tricks up our sleeves that might even make You-Know-Who wet himself—"

"But to answer your question, Ginny—nothing is happening that we know of. Harry went back to the Dursleys this morning—"

"WHAT!?" Both Ron and Ginny leapt to their feet.

"You can't be serious!?" Ron billowed. "Tell me you're joking!?"

"We aren't joking." Both twins said, glancing between themselves and then at Bill, who was watching with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh no… This is so not good! Ron! We promised!"

"I know we did!" Ron started pacing again. "That miserable sack of dung! Screw cursing his socks, I'm going to make his balls crawl up his ass and shred his intestines!"

"Ronald Weasley! Just because our parents are not in the house does not mean you can get away with using that language!"

Ron turned to glare at Bill. "All due respect, but you don't even know what we're talking about! So sod off!"

Bill was on his feet in a second, his brown eyes flashing dangerously. His wand twitched in his hand.

"So tell us what you're on about then!" Fred quickly said, pulling Bill by his shoulder to make him sit down.

"Yeah—you can't just go off half-cocked and expect us to support you."

"Though that was a rather brilliant idea for a curse—"

"Oh just shut up, the both of you." Ginny hissed. There was silence as all eyes turned to look at her. She never lost her temper with the twins.

"Oh." The twins both frowned. "This must be bad."

"It is!" Ron snapped. He took a deep breath. "We have to get Harry away from his relatives."

Bill frowned at him. "That isn't a good idea. There are blood wards there that protect him from You-Know-Who."

"Yeah. A fat lot of good that'll do when his uncle beats him to death!" Ron pulled angrily at his hair, watching the twins exchange one of their _looks_ and Bill raise a questioning eyebrow. Ron growled in frustration and turned to his sister. "You're better at explaining these kinds of things."

Ginny nodded, chewing her lip as her brothers all looked at her expectantly. "Harry told us on the train that he gets abused by his uncle." She hesitated, taking a deep breath before continuing. "He already went to Dumbledore about it—showed him the scars and everything—but Dumbledore told him he couldn't be moved because of the blood wards and said some other awful things—told Harry he was a coward for whining about it. He also told McGonagall that Harry would try and lie about it when he was upset about Sirius—so she called him a liar when he tried to tell her."

Ron was pleased at the disgusted looks that passed over Fred and Georges' faces. Bill remained stony faced.

"Anyways—he told us that he thinks it's because Dumbledore's trying to—I don't know—toughen him up to face You-Know-Who." Ginny's eyes suddenly went wide and she paled. "Oh Merlin! That's it!"

Ron frowned. "What's it!?"

"Harry—that's why he—he's fine! After three days! He's fine!"

Ron blinked. "I don't get it. What does that have to—oh."

"Care to share?" Fred, George and Bill asked. The twins shot Bill a grin that clearly said 'you're becoming one of us!'

"That's why he's doing okay—three days of torture should have made him go mad! But he's used to the torture! Merlin—Bellatrix had to have known something! She locked him in a cupboard!" Ron slammed a fist down on the table.

"What Ron means…" Ginny shot her brother a look. "…is that Harry has withstood years of pain because of his relatives. The cupboard—well they used to lock him in a cupboard for days and starve him."

"Let me get this straight." Bill leaned forward, clasping his hands under his chin as he looked between Ginny and Ron. "You're saying that Harry has been so abused by his muggle relatives that he's what—immune to the cruciatus curse?"

Ron shook his head. "No! Not immune—just—he has a higher pain tolerance. That's why he lasted so much longer than the Longbottoms."

Bills' frown deepened. "And you think that Dumbledore purposely allowed this to happen? It doesn't make sense. We've been doing everything in our power to shelter Harry from the Death Eaters. This was a freak accident—how could Dumbledore possibly have known this would happen?"

Ron exchanged a look with Ginny, and she spoke up. "I don't know what Dumbledore thinks. But I do know that he is fully aware of what Harry is going through at the Dursleys and he keeps sending him back there anyways."

"He told Harry its' for his own good." Ron added quietly.

There was silence at this.

"Well then what are we waiting for!? Lets' go!" The twins leapt to their feet, but Bill was shaking his head.

"We can't just show up and snatch Harry away from his relatives. Do you know how much danger he would be in if he were out in the open! It takes weeks of planning to safely move him from one spot to another—No!" He shot Ron a glare when he opened his mouth to protest. "If we are going to do this, we are going to do this right. I'll owl mum and dad and tell them it's an emergency. Fred and George—you figure out what type of security we can put together."

"And be quiet about it!" Ron blurted out. "Its' not just Death Eaters we have to worry about. If Dumbledore catches wind of this he's going to put a stop to it."

Bill didn't look quite convinced, but didn't say anything. The twins were already whispering quietly to themselves.

"Remus is out on duty right now, otherwise I'd bring him in on this." Bill muttered, eyes darkening. "Are you sure that Dumbledore—could this be just some huge misunderstanding?"

Both Ron and Ginny shook their heads. "He knows—he's doing it on purpose."

Bill frowned, standing up and flicking his wand. A piece of parchment appeared in the air in front of him. A quill popped into existence next to it and started scribbling furiously over the page.

"I just don't understand—why?"

Ron glanced at the twins who looked up from their conversation, listening intently. Ginny nodded slightly as he turned back to Bill.

"Because of the prophecy—it was made when Harry was a baby—basically said that Harry is our only hope to defeat You-Know-Who…" Ron shuddered but pushed on. "Dumbledore was the only one who knew what the prophecy said."

Bills' eyes widened. "But—you mean… Let me make sure I understand this… You think that Dumbledore—acting on what this prophecy said—has spent the past fourteen years preparing Harry to defeat a Dark Lord that has only recently proved to be still alive? I'm sorry, but that is ridiculous."

Ron glared. "Only recently!? Harry met him three times before he returned to power—Dumbledore has been telling people that You-Know-Who would make a comeback for years! Hasn't Dumbledore always been one step ahead? How is it he stays one step ahead if he doesn't have a hand in shaping things?"

Bill didn't say anything.

"Don't you see? He's always tweaking things—putting plans into action to make sure things happen a certain way! Do you honestly think—knowing what he knew about the prophecy—that he wouldn't do whatever he thought was necessary for that cause?" Ron was breathing hard. "He's done it all along! Except we were too young to see it. Harry told me his first year that Dumbledore had known he would try to prevent You-Know-Who from getting the Sorcerer's Stone. And you know what he did to stop it? Nothing! He let Harry, and me and 'Mione—a group of eleven year olds—waltz off to face down _him_. Second year it was the same thing, and then third year—and don't forget the triwizard tournament! Don't you see! He's been making sure that Harry is the perfect hero to fulfill the prophecy!"

Ron wasn't entirely sure when he had drawn that conclusion, but it made only too much sense now that he'd said it. It was strange that every year Harry had been subjected to some sort of showdown—some violent fight for his life that got progressively worse as he got older. Ron muttered to himself, feeling another wave of white hot anger roll over him. 'Dumbledore… I'm going to make him regret this.'

The silence stretched for another few minutes as his family processed what he'd said. Ginny finally turned to him with wide, horrified eyes. "That—it's… How did you figure that out?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. It just fits."

Bill snorted. "It is an absurd conspiracy theory—nothing more. I'm willing to believe that Harry is in a bad situation, I'm even willing to believe that Dumbledore already knows about it. But I refuse to believe that Dumbledore—leader of the light need I remind you—has been purposely having Harry shaped and molded through trial and fire."

"Believe what you want!" Ron snapped. "Doesn't change the fact that Harry needs our help."

There was silent agreement at this.

Bill frowned as he directed his attention back to his unfinished letter, replicating it with a wave of his wand. "I'll need to borrow Pigwidgeon."

Ron nodded, racing up the stairs to fetch his owl. When he got back, Bill wordlessly tied the two letters to the bird and went to the window. "Deliver these to mum and dad as soon as possible."

Ron glanced at Ginny, who was picking nervously at the hem of her shirt. She looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading. "I really hope this works because I have a feeling we're risking leaving Harry in a worse position if this all goes wrong."

Ron nodded, squeezing her shoulder as he sat down. Bill frowned at them one last time before leaving the room. Ron fidgeted for a few minutes before standing back up. "I'll be in my room—come get me when mum and dad get here."

Ginny nodded, standing and moving to join the twins. Ron watched as she listened to their whispered conversation for a minute before making a comment. Then, he turned and left the kitchen. The stairs creaked as he plugged up them, and the ghoul in the attic started wailing as he got close. He ignored it and slipped into his bedroom.

Hermione's latest letter was on the desk—he had already read it, but he hadn't replied. She was worried. He frowned at the thought of keeping her waiting longer—but he'd have to wait until Pig got back.

He sat down heavily at his desk, pulling a piece of crumpled parchment to him and fishing a quill out of his drawer. It took a little more searching to find some decent ink.

_Hermione_

_Just heard the news from the twins—Harry's okay. But he got sent back to the Dursleys this morning. We're making a plan, but haven't had a chance to tell mum and dad yet. Won't go into details here. I wish you were here, because you always know what needs to get done. It would be a huge help. So how about it? I know it's still early in the summer, but will you come visit? I have a feeling we're going to need your help with this one. _

_Ron_

_PS Bill doesn't believe me—I'm not sure mum or dad will either. If they don't, we'll really need your help._

Ron sighed as he reread the letter. It was far too vague—but he knew better than to give any more details in case it fell into unfriendly hands. He jumped when a knock came on the door and quickly stashed the letter under his untouched homework.

"Yeah!?"

The door creaked open and Ginny peaked her head in. She was shaking slightly. "Come quick."

"What is it!? Mum? Dad?"

She shook her head. "No. Dumbledore's here."

Ron swore. "What does he want?"

"He said he needs to talk to us all about Harry."

"I don't think we should talk to him. Didn't Harry say he's a legilimens? He'll know what we're planning even if we don't tell him!"

Ginny shook her head again. "Bills already talking to him! I knew he didn't believe us, but he's ratted us out!"

Ron paled. "Bloody hell! That sneaky—"

Ginny grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the room. "There's no time for that! Mum is gonna be home in twenty minutes! We have to get to her before Dumbledore does."

Ron remained silent as his sister pulled him down the stairs. The twins were nowhere in sight as they entered the kitchen—something that gave Ron at least a bit of hope. Bill was deep in conversation with Dumbledore, who gazed at them coolly as they came in.

"Good day, Mr. Weasley."

Ron bit back the curse he wanted to shout out when Ginny stepped on his foot. "Good day, Headmaster."

"Bill has brought it to my attention that you and Miss Weasley are planning a—what is that muggle phrase? Ah yes—that you are planning a jail break. I assure you, Mr. Potter is quite safe and you would be putting him in unnecessary danger by removing him from his muggle family."

Ron shot a glare at Bill, who raised an unflinching eyebrow. He dropped his gaze to the floor and didn't answer.

"I can see you still think it is necessary. And what reason do you have that makes it so imperative that Mr. Potter be _rescued_?"

Ron snorted. "As if you don't know! You're a sadistic bastard!"

"Ron!"

Ron ignored his older brother. "No! You sit there, playing dumb and lying through your teeth! I don't buy it! I know the truth! I'm not going to just sit by and let you do this to Harry!"

"Ronald Weasley! You will lose your rude tone and apologize this instant!"

Ron flinched a little at his mothers' voice, but swung to face her. "I will not! He's put Harry back with the Dursleys! They beat him mum! They beat him and starve him!"

Ron waited with baited breath as his mum paled. "And how is it going to help Harry by mouthing off to the headmaster!?"

"He doesn't want to help Harry! He's known that this was going on all along and he keeps sending him back there!" Ron growled. "They torture him there, mum!"

Mrs. Weasley was shaking her head. "This must be some terrible misunderstanding. Albus?"

Ron was sickened by the twinkling smile the headmaster gave his mother. "Alas. It is so easy to overreact when we are young. I remember fondly my own days of youth when—"

"DROP THE FRIENDLY OLDTIMER ACT YOU FUCKING MADMAN!"

There was complete silence at this outburst, and Ron trembled as he watched the old man raise an eyebrow at him. "Mr. Weasley—as concerned as I'm sure you are about your friend—I give you my word that he is not in distress."

"You are a liar. Your word means _nothing_." Ron spat, turning on his heel and sweeping past his mother. He was halfway up the stairs before his mother went racing after him.

"Ronald Billeus Weasley! You get your sorry ass back down here and apologize! Now!"

"No!" Ron whipped around to glare at his mother. His fists were clenched and he was trembling with the effort of not screaming at her. "I am not a liar mum—you know that! You know Harry isn't a liar either! Harry is in trouble and he needs our help! If you don't believe that, then I'm going to have to find someone else to help him! So much for him being like one of the family!"

Ron instantly regretted his last words at the look of hurt on his mothers' face, but sprinted the rest of the way up the stairs. He slammed the door shut, pleased that Pigwidgeon was zooming around his head. He went to the desk, fishing out Hermione's letter. He added another PS.

_PPS Bill ratted us out to Dumbledore. We don't have a plan, mum doesn't believe us and Dumbledore has convinced everyone that it's a figment of our imaginations. I don't know what to do._

He snatched Pig out of the air in a move that would have made Harry proud and tied the letter to his leg. "Take this to Hermione—double time." The owl hooted enthusiastically and nipped his fingers as he tossed him out the window.

"Come on Hermione." Ron muttered, throwing himself down on his bed. "We desperately need your genius right now."

A knock came on the door, but Ron ignored it. A few seconds later, it slid open anyways and Ginny, Fred and George came in.

"So what do we do now?" Ginny asked, taking a seat at Ron's feet. Ron shrugged. "That was kind of a desperate, last ditch effort. I'm fresh out of ideas."

Fred and George both started pacing. Ron eyed them wearily. "Just so we're clear—you guys believe us, right?"

"Of course we do." Came the two-toned reply.

Ron sighed in relief. "Well that's a start at least."

"But it doesn't help us. Dumbledore has mentioned that 'in the interest of Harrys' continued well-being the ministry has agreed to set up wards to detect if any witches or wizards approach the Dursleys that aren't on a list.' Anyone caught trying to approach Harry without permission will be arrested." Ginny spat. "We just made it worse—at this rate he's going to cut off Harry from all contact with the rest of the wizarding world—and I sincerely hope his relatives don't know that Sirius is dead."

"Its' worse than all that." Fred said. "We heard Moody talking this morning. Harry doesn't have his wand."

There was dead silence.

"Bloody hell!" Ron leapt to his feet. "They're going to _mutilate _him!"

Silence fell again, and no one could think of anything to say that didn't drive the point further home.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Harry startled when the door to his room flew open. He had fallen asleep at his desk, and his neck protested angrily as he spun around.

"Get out here now."

Harry jumped up and approached his uncle, who grabbed his arm and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "You fell. Do you understand that?"

Harry nodded, but couldn't help the bubble of hope that rose in his chest. 'Remus.'

However, it wasn't Remus he found sitting politely at the kitchen table. Dumbledore's eyes weren't twinkling as Harry slowly approached him.

"Hello Harry."

Harry didn't respond, narrowing his eyes at the headmaster before noticing the familiar letter in his hand.

"Yes. This is why I'm here."

Harry froze at those words, but didn't say anything.

"Luckily for you, I intercepted Hedwig before she could deliver your message—it would have put Remus in a tight spot if he had been seen receiving post from your owl. I'm sure you understand."

Harry remained unmoving as the headmaster frowned at him. "I'm disappointed in you Harry. I thought you had more sense than that. As a result, I'm going to be keeping Hedwig—you will not be able to send post."

Harry almost broke down crying at that—almost. He refused to give the man the satisfaction as he smiled knowingly. "I should also warn you that additional wards have been set up by the ministry for your protection. Only I will be able to pass those wards without instantly alerting the ministry that there's been a breach by a magical person."

Harry felt the bile rise in his throat as the headmaster stood and put a hand on his shoulder. "I know it's hard, Harry. But it's for your own good. Oh. I also had the liberty of finding you a replacement set of glasses."

Harry shrugged the mans' hand off his shoulder but gladly accepted the offered pair of glasses. The world jumped to overwhelming clarity as soon as he shoved them on. He brushed past his uncle in the hallway—it was obvious to Harry that he'd been eavesdropping.

"And Harry?"

Harry paused with his foot on the bottom stair, but didn't turn around.

"Have a good summer."

Harry snorted, running the rest of the way up the stairs. He took the opportunity to stop by the bathroom before returning to his room.

"That fucking son-of-a-bitch." Harry hissed, glaring at Hedwig's empty cage. Dumbledore had quite literally looked him in the eye—one of them sporting a hell of a shiner—and goaded him while telling him that he had no hope of escape or receiving help. And he had knowingly done so in hearing range of his uncle. He was fucked.

Harry cautiously laid down on the dusty bed, curling in on himself. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears started streaking down his face. It seemed like ages ago that he had been arguing with Snape—foolishly trying to maintain his dignity. If he'd have known that would be his last chance at escape, he'd have thrown his pride to the wolves and told Snape _everything_. Instead, he was completely alone with a brute who took as much pleasure in hurting him as Bellatrix did.

'If only I'd told him.' Harry thought bitterly. But would it have done any good? Would Snape have believed him? He'd seemed honestly concerned about the scars Harry was hiding—how he'd figured out that much was beyond him. But what could Snape have done? Could he have stepped in and prevented Harry from being returned to the Dursleys? Would he have?

Harry stayed curled up on his bed, listening half-heartedly to the continuing voices downstairs. At some point, his door had been pulled closed and the locks had clicked into place. Harry ignored it.

'What am I going to do?' This was worse than any worst case scenario he'd imagined. He'd never thought he'd be so thoroughly trapped. But was he really trapped? He was locked in, but he wouldn't always be. He could slip out one day—under his invisibility cloak. But that would be incredibly stupid. He didn't even have a wand anymore. What would he do once he was out of the safety of the wards? He'd find himself back in the hands of the Death Eaters before he'd find safety.

It was hopeless.

Harry sat up, glancing at the lengthening shadows in the room. He'd just have to deal with it—there was no other option. Besides, he wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to have sensors that would alert him the minute Harry stepped out the door.

With the dismal conclusion, Harry gritted his teeth against the tears that wanted to spring back up. He would not cry—would not give Vernon the satisfaction. He would deal with it—like he always had—like he had with Bellatrix.

He refused to admit to the part of his brain that warned him he was still in sad shape from his time with Bellatrix—nor would he admit that Snape was probably right and he had continuing nerve damage. Whatever Dumbledore was hoping to achieve, Harry didn't know—but he knew he'd rather die than let the man break him.

By the time Vernon came bursting back into the room, Harry had strengthened his resolve and met him with a passive, unflinching gaze. Vernon snorted. "Get your ass out here—there's work to do."

Harry nodded, standing and following his uncle to the garage. It was piled with junk strait up to the ceiling.

"Clean it—and don't you dare break anything!" Vernon barked.

"Yes Uncle Vernon." Harry said quietly, immediately reaching out for a box. Behind him, he heard Vernon snort. "Don't try to fool me with the obedience act—I know better. You're dangerous—all you freaks are."

Harry didn't say anything, focusing his whole attention on the box in front of him. Finally, his uncle left and Harry heaved a sigh of relief. He cautiously glanced around at the makeshift storage space. He had a feeling he was expected to make it ready for the car to be pulled in. He groaned lightly, but obligingly started working in earnest.

It took him hours to get everything cleaned up. Halfway through he'd broken down into another fit of tremors—only this time it was a gradual build and he'd managed to carefully set down the box he'd been holding before curling in on himself.

Breathing heavy and heart pounding—he'd forced himself back to his feet and back to the task at hand.

It was well past dark by the time Uncle Vernon came back to check on his progress—he'd been putting the finishing touches on repacking and labeling the Christmas decorations. Uncle Vernon snorted, and his beady eyes took in the unrecognizable garage that once again would fit a car. Everything was in its' proper place and labeled for easy finding.

Harry waited silently for the verdict—savagely pleased when his uncle could find nothing to criticize. His reward was a trip to the shower before being locked back in his room for the night. He grimaced as he sat at his desk and ran his fingers through his wet hair. He would rather have been rewarded with a meal—he hadn't eaten anything since the bowl of oatmeal he hadn't finished early that morning.

Harry tensed when the locks clicked and the door eased open. He should have known it was too good to last.

But instead of his uncle bursting in with some outrageous accusation, Dudley stood fidgeting in the doorway. Harry raised an eyebrow at his cousin, who slowly took a few steps into the darkened room—the light bulbs were conspicuously missing from his lamp and the overhead.

"Er…" His cousin awkwardly held out something in his hand. "I thought you might be hungry."

Harry blinked at him, but carefully removed what turned out to be a sandwich from Dudley's outstretched hand. He eyed it suspiciously, and returned his gaze to his cousin, who was still standing and fidgeting. "Thanks…" He was about to ask his cousin what the hell was wrong with him when coughing sounded from the hallway at the bottom of the stairs. Dudley quickly and silently slipped back out of the room before closing and locking the door back up.

Harry was so nonplussed he nearly didn't have the time to hide the sandwich before the door clicked back open. His aunt didn't cross the threshold as she glared at him. "Breakfast at 7:00 tomorrow—on the dot."

Harry nodded. "Yes Aunt Petunia."

She glared at him for a moment longer, but shut the door with a brisk snap. Harry stared at the closed door for a second longer before fishing the sandwich out of the desk drawer and sniffing at it.

"Wonder if its' safe." Harry muttered. "Why would Dudley be sneaking me food?" He fiddled with it for a minute before his groaning stomach got the better of him and he nearly swallowed it whole. It was a hearty sandwich—lots of ham and cheese, with tomatoes and lettuce. He felt slightly sick from eating it so fast, but still better than before. With a sigh of content Harry laid himself down on the bed—doing his best to ignore the toxic cloud of dust that puffed up around him. Maybe Aunt Petunia would let him clean his room tomorrow. Maybe he'd be able to keep this up for a while—at least long enough to figure out where Uncle Vernon had hidden his wand.

Feeling slightly more encouraged he let himself slip into a light sleep.

The brisk rapping on his door snapped Harry out of sleep like a whip. He leapt to his feet, looking around and reaching for the wand that still wasn't there. The door clicked open and Petunia glared at him, but didn't say anything as she padded back down the hall to her bedroom.

Harry threw some clothes on—realizing that he'd forgotten to unpack his shoes from the trunk. So he padded barefoot down to the kitchen and started on a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon and hash browns—taking the time to start the coffeepot and slice up some fresh fruit. By the time Uncle Vernon came into the kitchen already dressed for work Harry was able to set a steaming mug in front of him while he served him an overindulgent breakfast. He sniffed at the coffee, apparently finding it acceptable because he took a long swig.

Harry repeated the process as first Petunia and then Dudley made an appearance. Soon, Vernon was out the door and Harry was wordlessly washing the dishes as Petunia grumbled over the neighbors' new riding mower.

Harry wasn't surprised when the moment he had put away the last fork a list was shoved under his nose. He silently read it through, fighting back the urge to throw it back in his aunts' face. What the hell did they do for the nine months Harry wasn't in the house? And what was the purpose of sweeping out the garden shed—the floor was dirt!

Harry decided to do that last, instead focusing on the more realistic demands. _Mow the lawn—front and back, pressure wash the house, repaint the outside window sills, clean the gutters, sweep the garden shed, trim the hedges, weed the garden, take out the garbage, clean the bathrooms, wash the bedding in the guest room, vacuum the guest room, clean the guest room, fold the laundry, iron the curtains and shake out the rugs._

Harry sighed heavily, and hesitated. The yard work was going to be a bitch if he didn't get some shoes. But his uncle wasn't home and he didn't know if his aunt could unlock the cupboard—and he didn't fancy asking. Resigning himself to tender feet, he trudged outside.

He decided to start with pressure washing, since all the windows were still closed to ward off the unnatural chill that had cropped up unexpectedly in the night. Harry shivered as he stepped out into the gloom—it was almost reminiscent of dementors.

He was soaked within a few minutes, and shivering violently against the cold wind that was whipping through, but did his best to ignore it as he slowly but surely blasted the winter grime off the house. The gutters were next—a daunting prospect as Harry didn't quite feel comfortable trying to keep himself balanced on a ladder if another fit came over him—however his aunts' glare through the window put him off trying to skirt that task and he dutifully dragged the rickety ladder out of the shed. He dropped it on his foot once, and bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood to keep from shouting out.

Cursing the whole while, he dutifully limped up and down the ladder until all the gutters were free of debris and half rotten leaves—he even found a dead snake in one.

Before he could put the ladder back away, his aunt deposited a gallon of paint and a paint brush outside the door with a loud clunk. Harry jumped a foot in the air and nearly toppled the ladder on top of himself as he slammed his elbow against it to reach for the wand that still wasn't there.

Swearing as he rubbed his elbow, he limped over to snatch up the paint. At this rate, Uncle Vernon wouldn't have to lift a finger—Harry would do himself in all by himself.

The sun was weakly shining through gaps in the clouds and starting to sink towards the horizon by the time Harry was done outside. His aunt sniffed at him as he limped back into the house, immediately slipping into his room to change out of his wet clothes before starting on the inside list.

This went much smoother—less accidents, though he did collapse and nearly break his neck as he was leaning over the tub when a back spasm turned into a violent tremor that left him in a heap at the bottom of the bath. The edges of his vision went dark, and he could hardly breathe as every nerve in his body flamed to life.

"Harry?"

Harry started at the soft voice of his cousin, who was hovering in the door looking at him with wide eyes. "What!?" Harry managed to gasp out as another wave rolled over him. He barely had time to scramble to the newly clean toilet before he retched.

"Are you okay?" Dudley still hovered in the doorway, but had taken an unsure step forward.

Harry nodded as he caught his breath. "Residuals… of the cruciatus…" He muttered weakly.

"Did it hurt that much when you were feeling it for real?"

Harry shook his head, pushing himself to his feet. "Worse—so much worse…" He snatched up his dropped rag and went back to scrubbing the tub—noticing a small splatter of blood on the porcelain.

"Am I bleeding?" He asked his cousin.

The larger boy nodded. "Your mouth."

Harry put the back of his hand to his mouth, frowning at the blood smear that appeared. Then, he shrugged and turned his full attention back to scrubbing the tub—it was disgusting. It looked like a years' worth of soap scum and shaved hairs had been pounded into the cracks around the edges.

"How do you stand it?"

"Stand what?" Harry didn't look up from his work. He rinsed the rag out and stretched his shoulder a bit but quickly resumed his scrubbing.

"The pain—I mean… How can you just keep going when you're in that much pain?"

At that, Harry did look at his cousin. He raised an eyebrow as Dudley shifted uncomfortably but still held his gaze.

"Why do you want to know? And since we're on the topic—who the hell are you and what have you done with my cousin?"

Dudley reddened a bit and looked down at his feet. "I was just… I wanted… You see… You saved my life!"

Harrys' jaw dropped, and he stared at his cousin. "The sandwich?"

Dudley shrugged. "Just thought… I don't know. I wanted to try and do something for you because I know I haven't been very good to you and I wouldn't have blamed you if you left me to those—_things_—but you didn't."

Harry nodded slowly, trying to wrap his mind around this new development. It once again blew away anything his imagination could have come up with for unexpected relief. Harry started to smile, but that quickly gave way to a frown.

"Why are you hiding it from your mum and dad?"

Dudley's eyes widened, and he looked ready to bolt. Instead, he swallowed and whispered. "I'm scared of what dad will do if he finds out."

Harry slowly returned to scrubbing the nearly forgotten bathtub. "Why are you scared of him—has he _hurt_ you?"

Harry saw his cousin wince out of the corner of his eye. "He hit me, after you left last time. He swore you'd never set foot here again and I tried to tell him—well—anyways… he got really angry and hit me and told me that no son of his was going to show—people like you—kindness. He apologized later… but he still gets angry and breaks stuff if I try to talk about it."

Harry frowned. "Has he hit you since?"

"No. But I think he would if he knew I was helping you."

Silence fell, and there was no sound except from Harrys' scrubbing.

"Is it really bad?" At Harrys' confused expression, Dudley stammered. "The pain?"

"Oh." Harry frowned. "It isn't all the time—but it comes in fits. It can get so bad that I don't remember where I am…"

Dudley frowned, finally coming fully into the bathroom and leaning against the sink. "Is that what happened yesterday in the kitchen?"

Harry nodded. "For a minute I thought I was still with Bellatrix—that's the Death Eater that was… well… you know…" Harry fidgeted. It was awkward trying to talk to Dudley about this—not least because his understanding of magic was vague at best.

A light cough sounded at the door and both boys jumped. Petunia didn't look at either of them as she said. "Diddykins, you are distracting Harry from his work."

Harry started scrubbing with renewed vigor as Dudley fled the bathroom as if he'd been burned. He could still feel his aunt staring at him and choose to speak. "It's not right that he's afraid of Uncle Vernon—you do realize that, right?"

Petunia sniffed, but didn't answer. Harry sighed but continued to plug along. His hands were burning from the harsh cleaner.

By the time Vernon pulled into the garage, Harry had barely finished his chores. He'd been delayed again by another episode and was really starting to worry—he forcibly told himself that it was just a coincidence—they weren't getting more frequent.

He was set chopping vegetables for a roast as his uncle tromped into the house. "Boy! Get me a drink!"

Harry quickly followed the order, fetching the bottle of scotch from the top of the fridge and pouring a generous amount into the glass. He took it in to his uncle, who was lounging back on the couch. He didn't say anything to Harry as he slipped back into the kitchen.

He felt another tremor, and braced himself against the counter as it tore through his body. His hands were still trembling when he picked the knife back up. His uncle demanded that the bottle be brought to him, and Harry quickly obeyed. Then he quickly threw the roast together in the pan and slid it into the oven. He set the timer for an hour and turned to leave—only to jump out of his skin when he noticed his uncle in the doorway staring at him.

"Done?"

Harry nodded. "It just needs to bake for an hour."

The man snorted. Harry waited his uncle to move, but he just kept staring at him. Harry felt a stab of nervousness at the now empty bottle clenched in his uncles' hand. He swallowed hard.

Finally, his uncle moved to the side and Harry slowly left the kitchen. He tensed when a hand snatched his arm. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To my room." Harry said quietly.

"_Your_ room?"

"The room you and Aunt Petunia let me use." Harry corrected, tensing when the grip on his arm tightened.

"Think you're clever, do you boy?" Vernon shook him, leaning closer to glare down at him. A smirk slowly spread over his face. "You haven't grown much, have you?"

Harry shook his head, feeling the lead drop into his stomach.

"Haven't really outgrown your cupboard then."

Harry felt his eyes widen, and tried to jerk his arm away but Vernon's grip was too strong. "No! Please! Don't put me in there! I've been good! Anything but that! Please…" He snapped his mouth shut at the glee that passed over his uncles' face. He'd just given him ammunition.

Harry started struggling when his uncle pulled him towards the stairs. "No! No! Please!"

"Shut up! Keep sniveling and I'll give you something worth crying about!"

Harry nearly stopped breathing when his uncle fished a set of keys out of his pocket. Never releasing the death grip that was making Harrys' arm go numb, he unlocked the padlock and swung the door out.

Harry gagged at the musty, moldy smell and planted his feet as Vernon shoved him towards the dark space. "NO! PLEASE!"

"Get in there!"

Harry elbowed his uncle in the stomach and stomped on his foot—scrabbling away from the darkness that was already reaching out to snatch him.

"YOU UNGRATEFUL FREAK!" His uncle roared, slamming Harry against the wall. Harry gasped for breath as the meaty fist flew towards his face—his new glasses clattered to the ground at the force of the blow. His shirt ripped as Vernon grabbed his collar and threw him towards the cupboard. He crashed painfully into the back wall, feeling different odds and ends digging into his ribs as he tried to right himself and leap back out the door.

The door slammed closed, and Harrys' heart stopped when he heard the lock click into place. "Nothing to stop me from giving you exactly what you deserve now, is there boy?!"

"NO! LET ME OUT!" He threw himself at the door, pounding on it. A sob ripped passed his throat. "PLEASE LET ME OUT!"

"IF YOU DON'T QUIT THAT RACKET I'M GOING TO FLAY YOU WITHIN AN INCH OF YOUR LIFE!"

Harry sobbed, slumping against the door. He couldn't breathe—he couldn't see. He could feel the closeness around him, and couldn't stop the scream bubbling in his chest.

"WHAT THE RUDDY HELL DID I TELL YOU!"

Harry started pounding on the door again as his uncles' footsteps pounded towards him. He fell forward when the door was wrenched open. A hand fisted in his hair and wrenched his head upwards to look into beady eyes.

"You're going to regret that! By the time I'm done with you you're going to be begging me to put you back in your cupboard, Boy!"

Harry gasped as he was dragged to his feet by his hair. The grip resumed on his arm and he was dragged up the stairs and flung into his bedroom. "You're not going to be able to sit, stand or lie down by the time I'm done with you."

Harry didn't move as Vernon advanced on him, dragging him to his feet again by his hair. Vernon fumbled with the belt holding up Harrys' pants for a minute, ripping it out of the belt loops in his hurry. He shoved Harry roughly against the desk.

Harry braced himself as the first blow snapped across his back—the ripped t-shirt he was wearing dampened some of the burn. The next second it was wrenched up and over his head and his pants were yanked hard down to his knees. A hand pushed down heavily on his neck to keep him bent over.

The next blow seared across the back of his thighs, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut. Silent tears started pouring from his eyes as over and over again the belt razed his skin. Still, he didn't make a sound.

Vernon apparently was getting impatient, because he suddenly released Harry and strode from the room. Harry hardly dared to breathe as his uncle came stomping back a few seconds later with a thicker belt. Harry trembled from his prone spot against the desk—feeling the disgust wash over him. If only the wizarding world could see their bloody savior now.

The next blow was unexpected, and Harry couldn't stop the whimper. His uncle laughed harshly and the blows came heavier—Harry felt like his entire backside was on fire. He bit his fist to keep from screaming as the blows kept raining down—one after another until everything went numb.

"That'll teach you." Vernon spat, dropping the belt to the ground. The finality made Harry slump completely against the desk.

"Put your damn clothes back on!"

Harry slowly straitened himself up, swaying as his entire body throbbed from the fiery flesh on his back. He was trembling violently, and fell over as he tried to pull his pants back up. Vernon hissed in annoyance and kicked him in the stomach. "Hurry up, Boy! I don't want to be here all night."

Harry managed to get his pants back on and his shirt pulled over his head before the trembling turned into another wave of spasms. His vision darkened, and he tasted blood before he passed out with a gasp.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Hermione clenched tightly to the arms of the armchair she was in as the Nightbus veered to another stop. She impatiently ground her foot against the floor as another passenger slowly got off.

It had been a week since she had gotten Ron's letter. He wasn't expecting her—she hadn't been able to convince her parents to let her go rushing off. Instead, she had slipped a light confunding potion in their morning coffee and come downstairs with all her luggage. They had been confused, and she had boldly told them that she was going to visit Ron. When they had tried to argue, she had told them that they had 'promised.' After that, they had hugged her goodbye before she had gone out and flagged down the Nightbus.

She knew she was going to be in big trouble when they sobered from the potion, but she'd just have to deal with that.

"Ottery St. Catchpole next stop."

Hermione braced herself as the bus went tearing off again—her heart was thumping in her chest. She had received another letter from Ron the day before. From what little information he could give, Harry was in dire straits.

Hermione was out of her seat and dragging her trunk towards the door almost before the bus had come to a complete stop. She had stumbled a bit, and cursed under her breath. The minute her feet hit the ground she was half sprinting towards the other end of town. The Burrow slowly came into sight as she lugged her trunk behind her.

She left her trunk on the doorstep and slipped into the house. She didn't see anyone.

"Hello! Ron? Ginny?"

"Hermione!?" Hermione swung around to see Bill coming out of the kitchen.

"Hi. Where's Ron?"

"Um. Upstairs. But what—"

Hermione didn't give him a chance to answer as she bolted up the stairs. "Ron!"

"Mione!?"

She threw her arms around the redhead's neck, sobbing in relief. "I came as soon as I could! I'm sorry it took me so long!"

"Its' okay!" Ron patted her back, as Ginny came running up the stairs.

"Hermione!" Ginny crashed into the hugging pair. "I'm so glad you're here!"

"Quick! Before Bill comes up!" Ron waved towards his room, and Hermione slid in. Ginny followed, and Ron peaked down the stairs before closing the door.

"What's happened? I got your letter yesterday! But it was so vague—I had to dose my parents with a confundus concoction to get them to let me come…" Hermione sat heavily on the bed. "How bad is it?"

"Bad." Ginny said grimly. "Really bad."

"Fred and George heard from Moody that Harry doesn't have his wand."

"And Dumbledore has put up a ward so that no witch or wizard can enter undetected."

"We've tried writing to Remus, but I don't think he's getting our letters because he hasn't responded—I think Dumbledore must be blocking them."

"Bill thinks' we're nuts—mum and dad think we're overreacting to the 'trauma' from the ministry."

"And none of our letters to Harry have been answered either."

Hermione blinked as tears came to her eyes. She stood and started pacing. "Alright. We just need to take a step back and think about this logically. We can't send anyone—can't get a hold of anyone—the people we can talk to don't believe us… Bloody hell! What are we going to do!?"

Both Ron and Ginny blinked at her.

"Oh don't give me that look! I can bloody well curse if the situation calls for it. And it does!" Hermione sighed. "So Fred and George are with us?"

"Yes. But they've been blocked from headquarters. They haven't been able to floo through, the door won't open for them or anything." Ginny grimaced. "Dumbledore is playing us!"

Hermione nodded. "What about other members of the order? Tonks? Kingsley? Hell, what about Mundungus?"

Ron shook his head. "I think all our mail is being screened. I didn't try to contact 'Dung but I wrote Tonks and Kingsley. Neither of them wrote back."

Hermione resumed her pacing. "Alright. What if we get someone else to try and send a letter for us? I mean, it might be that the mail is being screened because its' from here."

"Fred and George have been sending mail from their shop and the post-office. Its' not getting through either."

Hermione wiped angrily at her eyes. "This is so wrong! I hate that stupid man! I hate him with a passion. It's not fair to Harry."

"So what do we do now?" Ginny was looking at Hermione expectantly. Ron was frowning out of the window.

"First things first, I think we should get out of the house—we don't need another plan going to the dogs because _someone_ decides to rat us out—again!" Ron spat, turning to look at the girls.

"Yes." Hermione agreed. "But where do we go?"

"Luna lives just over the hill." Ginny suggested. "Plus, her father has some _interesting_ contacts—he might be able to help."

"Brilliant!" Hermione clapped her hands together. "We need to get the twins over there with us—or bring Luna with us to the twins! Yes! That will give us a couple hours at least!"

"Huh?"

"We'll go over to Luna's and then floo to the twins shop from there! Everyone will have to work out that we aren't at Luna's anymore before they start looking anywhere else." Hermione explained, going to the door. "Let's go."

Ron and Ginny both jumped up, following Hermione down the stairs. Bill waylaid them in the Hallway. "Where are you off too?"

"Going to visit Luna." Ginny smiled. She tripped over Hermione's trunk on the front stoop.

"Sorry." Hermione muttered, whispering a quiet shrinking spell and shoving the trunk in her pocket.

"Won't you get in trouble for that?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The ministry can't tell the source of magic—only the location. As long as there's a known witch or wizard of age in a location they can't tell that the user is underage." Hermione explained quietly as they walked briskly away from the Burrow. She glanced back over her shoulder to see Bill watching them from the door.

"Tosser." Ron muttered darkly as he followed her gaze. Ginny snorted, but didn't disagree.

"I still can't believe he went to Dumbledore—it just doesn't make sense!" Hermione muttered. "I mean—why? If he had waited two hours he would have seen for himself. So why not give you the benefit of the doubt?"

"I don't know. I would take great pleasure in the 'I told you so,' but it sucks for Harry so it wouldn't really be a victory. The twins are damn near out for blood, though." Ron shrugged.

"You don't think he—I don't know—already knew." Hermione asked cautiously. "You don't think he agrees with Dumbledore on this, do you?"

Neither Ron nor Ginny answered.

"I wouldn't think he would—but… Its' just so odd. Tell me how he did it."

"Well, he set Fred and George to planning for security, told us he'd owl mum and dad that it was an emergency and we'd make sure to get Harry. But instead, he called Dumbledore and told him everything we'd talked about and what we were planning to do." Ginny explained.

Hermione hissed. "That just makes no sense! Why the trick! If he didn't believe you, he could have just said no! But, it was like he wanted to know what you knew and what you planned—am I crazy for thinking this?"

Ron stopped abruptly. "Yes. But after learning that about Dumbledore, I think anything is possible."

Hermione didn't reply, frowning as they approached a building that rivaled the Burrow for strangeness.

A blonde head bobbed into view from around the side of the tall, circular house. Ginny waved frantically, but Luna was already jogging down to meet them.

"I was wondering when you guys would make it." Luna greeted. She was barefoot, and seemed undisturbed by the cold ground. "Harrys' in a lot of trouble, isn't he?"

Hermione nodded. "We need your help—and your father if he's willing."

Luna smiled. "Of course—but Daddy is out right now. He won't be home for a few days."

"Oh." Ron frowned. "We still need your help."

"Come in. Where are we flooing to?"

Hermione smiled wryly at the girl. "You are very clairvoyant."

"I know. Daddy says' it runs in the family." Luna said, leading them into the house. The space was piled high with all sorts of knickknacks that were purely 'Luna-esque.' Hermione smiled fondly at the junk before turning her attention to Luna, who had grasped a jar from the mantle. "Where to?"

"Diagon Alley." Ron and Ginny both said.

"Alright. Guests first!"

They slid through the floo one at a time, quickly slipping out of the Leaky Cauldron and into the alley behind. Ron hastily tapped the right brick and the archway appeared.

"I haven't been to the twins shop yet." Ginny muttered as they walked. "But it's across from the Magical Menagerie."

Hermione nodded, her breath catching as she noticed just how desolate Diagon Alley had become in the three weeks since Voldemort's return had been announced. Only one store seemed to be thriving—the bright colors and loud noises issuing from the open door causing her to smile despite herself.

"U-No-Poo!?" Ginny snorted as they approached the shop. She raised an eyebrow at her brother and smirked. Ron grinned stupidly in return and quickly sobered up. "Lets' go."

The inside of the shop was packed with shoppers, all squabbling over the products on the shelves that were beginning to look a little empty. Hermione scanned the entire store. "I don't see them."

"They're probably upstairs." Ginny muttered, squeezing through the crowd to a barely noticeable back door. It was locked, and Ron knocked impatiently as he drew even with his sister.

"We're busy!" The twins' voices made them jump. A mouth had opened in the door and was frowning at them.

"Let us in!" Ginny snapped. "We didn't come all this way just to get sassed by a door!"

The door swung open to reveal a stair case. Hermione followed Ron and Ginny in, pulling Luna in behind her before the door swung closed again. They climbed the stairs, and the door at the top swung open—revealing Fred and George standing there. They had bags under their eyes, but smiled grimly in greeting.

"Sorry 'bout that."

Hermione flushed a little when both their eyes lit up as they glanced at her. "Brilliant! Now we'll get somewhere!"

"Hello." Luna said dreamily as she passed them. "I suppose you hear this all the time, but you're store is absolutely marvelous."

The twins exchanged a look, but smiled at Luna. "Thanks!"

Soon, they were all crammed around the small table in the tiny apartment.

"So, we did some research about the type of ward the ministry just set up—there's no getting around it. Any magical person that passes through it will set off the alarm."

"So how about a non-magical person." Luna said blandly. "We could send a muggle."

There was silence, and Hermione felt a sudden leap in her chest. "That's brilliant! We could send the muggle authorities in!"

However, the twins were shaking their heads. "We thought of that too. But seeing as how Harry is a wizard, the Ministry has full jurisdiction—they take measures to prevent the muggle authorities from interfering in wizarding affairs."

"Damn!" Ron huffed, slamming a fist down on the table. "What if it's not the muggle authorities—just a regular muggle making a house call? It could be worth a try, couldn't it?"

Hermione nodded. "We can't write it off—especially if we could somehow get them to bring Harry outside the area of the ward."

No one seemed to disagree, so Hermione continued. "Is there anyone we could contact that we haven't tried contacting yet—from the wizarding world, I mean?"

"I don't think so." Ginny frowned. "We've tried just about every Order member we know—no one has replied."

"That isn't a coincidence." The twins added, giving each other another look. "We've even tried contacting the Ministry—but no one has replied to us. I never realized Dumbledore has such influence."

"Of course he does—He's been secretly running the wizarding world for years." Luna said.

Hermione started to roll her eyes, but stopped when she realized that it actually was probably close to the truth.

"Wait!" Ron suddenly jumped up, eyes shining. "I know! He would be the last person we'd go to!"

"What!? Who?" Hermione asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Snape!"

Hermione frowned. "I don't think that would be a good idea. How do we know we can trust him?"

Five faces turned to gape at her. "You're always the one saying we should trust him."

"Yes! But I always said we should trust him because Dumbledore trusts him! But we obviously can't trust Dumbledore anymore…"

Understanding flitted through everyone's eyes, and Hermione slumped.

"I still think we should ask Snape." Ron said, gritting his teeth. "No. Listen. He may be a greasy bastard and a complete ponce—but he's saved Harrys' life a few times. He can't be all evil then, can he? And besides, I don't think the greasy git would just blindly follow anyone—Dumbledore included. And I bet you anything Dumbledore would never expect us to try to go to Snape for help—because we've never trusted him before. It's the element of surprise." Ron started blushing when everyone stared at him.

"Since when have you been so sensible?" Fred asked teasingly.

"Ickle Ronniekins is growing up…" George added.

"Shut up!" Ron snapped, meeting Hermione's impressed gaze. "We've all grown up—can't help it. I mean, if we don't try everything to help Harry… We can't let some stupid grudge get in the way."

Ginny was nodding. "I agree. We've tried the obvious—it's time to move out of the box."

Hermione was frowning. "Okay. But if we're going to do this, we're going to have to be very careful about it—if we approach Snape the wrong way he won't even hear us out."

"I suggest Fred and George write to him." Luna said, humming lightly under her breath. "They can ask him for his professional opinion, but leave subtle clues that there's an underlying emergency that is completely unrelated to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Professor Snape is smart enough to see through it, but it would appear unsuspicious if anyone else read it."

There was silence at this.

"How the bloody hell do we do that?"

"First, you should thank him for the last advice he gave you—that should get his attention." Hermione muttered. "Then we'll make sure that the potions' ingredients we're talking about mixing together are very dangerous—but we have to make sure it's something that most people wouldn't know—then we tell him that you are in dire need of his help on the issue… something like that."

"And that will tell him what he needs to know?" Ron snorted.

"No! But it will tell him that there's something really important that we need his help with—something that isn't safe to be discussed via a letter. He'll know that Fred and George wouldn't really be making what to him are very obvious mistakes—he's a spy! He'll see through the fake advice request. And hopefully by stating that you've asked him for advice before the letter won't be stopped and it will seem less suspicious."

Fred and George nodded in agreement.

"That's a plan. What else should we do? I don't know about anyone else but I don't fancy banking everything on the hope that Snape will be able to help us. Besides, it could be weeks before he responds—who knows what he actually has to do as a spy." Ron stood and started pacing.

"Yes. We definitely need more than just a letter to Snape." Hermione agreed. "I say we pursue the muggle-intervention. Its' a long shot—and we should have a worse-case scenario plan—I don't know about you, but I'm willing to try take a try at that ward if I have to—maybe we could make a diversion. At the very least, we might be able to get an auror into the house to see what's actually going on."

"Yes. But we have to keep that as the fallback plan." Ginny added. "We won't be able to help Harry if we're in the custody of the aurors."

"Has anyone been in contact with Neville?" Luna asked suddenly. "His Gran is very well respected. She knows a lot of people in the ministry."

Hermione nodded. "It can't hurt—but she's also an avid Dumbledore supporter." Hermione furrowed her brow. "But while we're on that train of thought, what about getting more people involved—like from the DA?"

"Someone snitched on us, if you remember?"

Hermione nodded, but pushed on. "Yes—and we know who and everyone saw what happened to her." Hermione couldn't stop the smirk that spread over her face. "At the very least that should keep anyone from betraying us again—and besides, I'm not suggesting Cho, or Anthony—but Susan's aunt is a member of the Wizangamot—and the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement."

Ginny's eyes suddenly gleamed. "Yes! And Susan told me once that her aunt was very impressed with Harry—not only because he could perform a corporeal patronus but because he took the initiative to start the DA—Susan's aunt was all for it!"

Hermione smiled. "So do we agree that we should also contact Neville and Susan?"

"We could use the coins." Luna smiled. "I have mine if you need it—tell them to meet us here. Can you do a specific message?"

Hermione frowned. "I think so—it would be a little riskier than just a date or time. But then anyone with a coin could see the message. So basically anyone from the DA…"

"So be vague." Ron injected. "Just say you need Neville, Susan and Madame Bones to please meet you at the Leaky Cauldron—and that its' an emergency."

Luna wordlessly held out her coin and Hermione hesitantly took it. She took out her wand and concentrated hard as she changed the message—feeling the coin heat up in her hand. She glanced at the time and set the meeting date for two hours.

"I hope this works." Hermione muttered, handing the coin back to Luna.

Luna smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "You're a genius, did you know that?"

Ron, Fred and George all said "We did!" and Ginny started laughing. Hermione blushed to the roots of her hair, but smiled back at Luna. "You are too. Did you know that?"

Luna's' smile brightened even more. "No one has ever said something so nice to me."

Hermione's smile faltered, and she shifted nervously. "We have two hours before I'm going to go back to the Leaky Cauldron—lets' get that letter started."


	16. Chapter Fifteen

A/N: I just realized that my summary for this story specifies that Harry is rebellious-and he will be! The thing is, I wrote the summary when this story was just barely a twinkle in my thoughts and it came from the idea I had for further down the line. A whole lot further down the line. I don't generally like the 'Harry wakes up one day and auto-magically becomes strong, powerful, smart, and invincible' stories. It's a process, and it will take Harry a while to get there. The main bulk of the story will revolve around that, I just haven't gotten that far yet. And yes, that means this is going to be a very long story. Most of the plots floating around in my head turn into very long, epic tales.

Chapter Fifteen

Susan shifted nervously as she stepped into the Leaky Cauldron—the sudden darkness and quiet a little disorienting. Her aunt followed her wordlessly.

She had no clue what this was about—she had been diligently cleaning her room when she had felt the half-forgotten coin heat up in her pocket. She had stared at it blankly for a few minutes. What could Harry need from her, Aunt Amelia and Neville? It had seemed odd—but she decided not to question it.

She had flooed to her aunts' office at the ministry—rushing into a meeting with her and the new Minister of Magic—Scrimgeour had looked annoyed at the interruption, but Susan knew her aunt would drop everything.

"It's an emergency!" Susan panted, looking pleadingly at her aunt. Her aunt had just stared at her for a minute, before turning to the minister and saying "Please excuse me. Perhaps we can reschedule for tomorrow?"

And so Susan had dragged her aunt back home and told her everything she knew—which admittedly wasn't much.

"What could he possibly want from us that he couldn't ask for directly?" Amelia muttered as Susan looked around for any sign of Harry. She had been muttering that same question over and over again, but had diligently allowed Susan to drag her down to the pub. They were almost an hour early.

"Susan?"

Susan jumped and spun around as Neville approached her. His eyes were wide, and flickered to her aunt questioningly. "Hello Neville. Do you know what this is about?"

Neville nodded. "I think I do—but it would be safer to wait for Hermione."

"Hermione? But I thought Harry—" She snapped her mouth shut at the grim look that passed his face. "Is Harry in trouble?"

Neville nodded. "He told us some things on the train—I won't repeat them here."

Susan frowned, and her aunt did the same but didn't question him further. They both knew too well that it wasn't safe to discuss business out in the open.

Instead, they took a seat and waited in silence, carefully watching everyone that passed through. No one paid them any attention, and the barkeep didn't even notice them in their corner.

"There she is." Neville stood up, waving to Hermione who suddenly rushed in from muggle London.

"Please! Come quick. We haven't much time. Fred and George had to make a distraction…" She clutched the stitch in her side, waving for them to follow. Susan bit down the rush of fear that rose in her chest at the bookish girls' wide-eyed terror.

Her aunt shot her a questioning look, but Susan shook her head and deftly followed Hermione back into muggle London. Neville stumbled a little as he tried to keep up. Hermione kept glancing behind them and to the sides, as if expecting an attack.

After a good fifteen minutes, she finally slowed her pace. She double checked that no one of consequence was around and muttered a distorting spell around them. Susan could see her aunt tense at the blatant disregard for the restrictions of underage magic, but was pleased when she didn't say anything. Hermione seemed not to have realized just what she had done.

"Harry is in serious trouble." Hermione began slowly, still glancing over her shoulder.

"I thought he escaped from the Death Eaters?" Aunt Amelia blurted.

"Death Eaters!?" Susan gasped. She could hear Neville echo her shock.

Hermione briefly shook her head. "I'll fill you in on that later. Yes, he escaped. This is different trouble—and the problem is that we've been betrayed."

"That is a serious accusation."

Hermione looked up at Amelia. "I know, Madame Bones. But please—please hear me out before you make a judgment call."

Susan felt a huge burst of pride when her aunt nodded. Hermione sighed in relief. "Harrys' uncle beats him."

This was met with silence, and Susan felt her stomach clench painfully—no! How could she have not noticed that?

"But it's worse than that." Neville added. At Hermione's nod he continued. "He's gone to Dumbledore for help—but Dumbledore refused—basically told Harry he was a coward for whining about it and that it was for his own good."

Susan gasped, and she could see the disbelief cross her aunts' face before the stern mask reappeared.

"Yes." Hermione muttered, looking both ways before leading them across the street and into a dingy alleyway. She carefully looked around before knocking on a blank wall.

"How many horns does the crumple-horned snorkack have?"

Susan jumped at the familiar voice, and was certain that Neville did too.

"Males have one, females have none." Hermione recited, glancing around before the wall turned into a door and she ushered them inside.

Susan blinked as Ron, Ginny and Luna stared at them from the table they were hunched over.

"Er… Why are we meeting here?" Neville asked as the door resealed behind them.

"Bill ratted us out—again. Must have sent word to mum and dad that we weren't at Luna's after all." Ginny muttered darkly.

"That's getting ahead." Hermione held up a hand. "Please, sit down."

Susan did, and after a second her aunt did the same. Neville sat gingerly, staring with wide eyes. "They didn't believe you?"

"No." Ron muttered darkly.

"Anyways…" Hermione said loudly, drawing everyone's attention to her. "Neville already explained that Dumbledore knows—now this is going to be very hard to believe—and we don't have very much hard evidence… But we have tried everything we can think of and we're desperate."

Susan bit down on her thumbnail as Hermione sniffed. Ron patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and continued the story. "You see—Harry finally came out and admitted that he was abused—that was on the train. But he got snatched by Death Eaters later that day, and we had other things to worry about… Anyways, after three days he escaped—had help, mind you. As soon as he was given a clean bill of health he was sent back to the Durley's—his muggle relatives." He paused and took a deep breath. "They didn't even let him recover for two days—when we found out they'd sent him back I told Bill about the abuse—told my mum and dad too. But Bill ratted us out to Dumbledore that we were planning on rescuing Harry."

"Dumbledore came and convinced my mum and dad that we were overreacting—he had the ministry put a ward in place that will alert them if any witch or wizard approaches the Dursleys. We tried contacting members of the Order—but none of them have replied. None of our owls to the ministry have been answered either."

At this, Susan glanced at her aunt, whose frown had deepened. Her monocle was digging deeply into her eyebrow. "I was aware of the ward—signed off on it after the lapse in security that led to Mr. Potter being captured. Who have you sent owls to?"

"We sent one to you, Mafalda Hopkirk, Gawain Robards, Rufeus Scrimgeour… We've sent letters to Kingsley, Tonks, Dawlish, and Williamson. No one has replied." Ginny quietly explained.

"I never received an owl about Mr. Potter."

Hermione nodded. "We figured as much."

Susan felt a chill as her aunt continued to frown. "Aunty?"

Amelia looked at her, standing and starting to pace. "Please continue. This doesn't sit right… It doesn't sit right at all."

Susan looked back at Hermione, who took a deep breath before speaking. "Harry hasn't replied to us either—we know he doesn't have his wand… We don't think he has any way of contacting anyone at all—or if he does then those letters are getting intercepted as well."

"But why would Dumbledore do something like this!?" Susan burst out, covering her mouth and flushing when everyone looked at her. "He's supposed to be the leader of the resistance—Harry was so loyal to him."

Susan exchanged a look with her aunt as the other members of the group exchanged questioning looks. Finally, Ginny spoke. "I don't think we should keep anything back—at least not this… We're past the point of desperation."

Hermione nodded, and turned to Amelia. "Madame Bones? What do you know of the Hall of Prophecies in the Department of Mysteries."

Amelia tensed up, but just shook her head. "I couldn't tell you much—other than the fact that it exists. And I'm only admitting to that because you've all seen it for yourselves."

Hermione nodded. "We did. At the end of term, Voldemort set a trap—he lured Harry to the Hall of Prophecies. Prophecies can only be removed from the shelf by one of the people they're made about…" Hermione trailed off, biting her lip. "There was a prophecy about Harry and Voldemort."

Susan flinched at the name. So did her aunt. However, her aunt simply shook it off and kept pacing. "I'm listening."

"Well, the prophecy was destroyed in the battle—we thought it was gone. But that was only a record of the prophecy—the person the prophecy was made to could show it—and Harry got to watch it in a pensieve. The prophecy was about 'the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord…' It basically said Harry is the only one who can." Hermione fell silent.

"I don't understand what this has to do with Dumbledore." Amelia muttered. "Or why he would purposely put Harry in a position to be hurt. And from your accusations—not only is he allowing Harry to be hurt, but he's going out of his way to make sure it happens…" She removed her monocle and rubbed at the indent it had left around her eye.

"Dumbledore was the one that heard that prophecy when it was made—the year Harry was born." Hermione swallowed thickly. "He was the one that put Harry with the Dursleys—the same night Voldemort failed to kill him."

Susan looked from the sharp expression her aunt was wearing to the somber one Hermione was wearing. "I still don't understand."

"He's been purposely having Harry tortured so that he'd be a proper, modest little hero when the time came for him to fulfill the prophecy." Ron spat out.

The silence at this was immense. Susan looked from one person to the other, heart suddenly pounding in her chest.

"And what purpose will that serve in the end?" Susan jumped at her aunts' hard voice.

"It's already served some purpose." Ginny muttered, suddenly looking at Neville. "I'm sorry, but there really isn't a delicate way to say this."

Neville shifted nervously, but nodded for her to continue.

"Harry spent three days with Bellatrix Lestrange—three days she tortured him. Frank and Alice Longbottom were each tortured for less than a day…"

Neville's eyes widened, and Susan saw him blink back tears. She looked back at her aunt, who was much more serious as she addressed the youngest Weasley. "Meaning… that Harrys' been… prepared for something like that?"

Ginny nodded.

Susan watched her aunt resume her pacing. She was muttering under her breath, but Susan could catch most of what she was saying. "…quite possibly the biggest, dirtiest conspiracy in the Ministry's history… unbelievable….but there are too many discrepancies…."

Susan felt a sigh of relief—her aunt might not believe every word, but she believed enough to know that something was horribly wrong. She looked back at Hermione, who was also watching Amelia's progress across the floor. The bushy-haired girl looked back at her and mouthed 'thank you.' Susan nodded.

"This is problematic." Amelia suddenly threw herself down in a chair. "If everything is as you say it is… and I'm sure there's more that you're missing… Then the Ministry has completely gone off the deep end—nothing like this has ever been heard of! I mean, there's been some conspiracies, fraud, abuse of power…. But this suggests that someone outside has a hand in every department."

Hermione nodded. "Which is why we're in such desperate need of help—you're our last chance at something legitimate. Please don't take this the wrong way, but if you can't help us we're going to have to do something really desperate."

Neville suddenly stood up, tears abated and eyes shining. "Anything I can do to help, I'll do it."

"Me too!" Susan piped up, tensing as her aunt raised an eyebrow at her.

"I don't know that I can help." Amelia admitted quietly. "Not in the way you want me too… I have enough here to launch an investigation—but that could take weeks. From what you've told me, Mr. Potter may not have that long?"

Susan could almost tangibly feel the hope leave the room. She fidgeted in her seat.

"I was afraid of that." Hermione added. "We're still exploring one other option—but that's going to take some time—and we're sorely lacking time." She waved a hand at the table that was scattered with parchment. "We don't even think the letter will get through at this rate."

Amelia stood, going over to the table. "Do you have your owl here?"

Ron looked up and nodded. He glanced up at the ceiling, and a little grey ball dove down. It landed in a pile of feathers and dust, sending parchment scattering.

"Oy! Calm down!" Ron snapped, grabbing up the tittering little bird and holding him out to Amelia. She looked him over carefully, pulling out her wand.

"Revelio Perficere!"

The little bird didn't stop hooting, but started glowing, alternating between green and a pale yellow.

"Finite Incantatum!"

The pale glow faded, and the owl went limp before jumping onto the table and shaking its' feathers. Amelia looked grim. "There was a confundus charm placed on your owl. But more disturbing—a complex tracking charm as well. Bloody hell." She started pacing again.

Susan raised an eyebrow at her aunt. She _never _swore.

"This is really bad. This is deep." Amelia muttered. "Tracking spells like that are very discreet—and carefully regulated. That comes straight from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Have you tried using any general post owls? Borrowed owls?"

"Fred and George used their owl, and tried using the post office owls. It still didn't work."

"Damn! That means—my own department!"

"Bloody hell! That's how they found us so fast!" Ron leapt to his feet. "Pig hadn't been there for ten minutes before mum, dad and Dumbledore were walking up the street. If Fred and George hadn't distracted them…" He sighed and sat back down. "Putting an undetection ward was right brilliant of you, 'Mione."

Amelia raised an impressed eyebrow. "Undetection ward? But you just finished your OWLs, am I right?"

Hermione nodded, flushing slightly. "It isn't the best location, but we were desperate."

"Understandable. I still can't believe it… never thought something like this would happen in my time…"

Susan finally couldn't contain herself. "Does this mean there's nothing we can do!?"

"I'm afraid that's exactly what it means—damn it all… I'm not afraid of losing my position, mind you! But I guarantee this level of corruption will beat me if I start asking questions…" Amelia sighed. "I believe it… all of it… but…"

Susan suddenly stood. "I know who can help us!"

"Who!?"

Susan shifted. "This is going to sound really strange, so please just hear me out. Okay?" At the vague nods she continued. "Blaise Zabini."

She almost smirked as every jaw dropped. "It's like this. Back in my third year, I noticed that one of the first year Ravenclaws was… well something was wrong. I did a little poking, and found out he was abused. Well, it turns out Blaise was trying to help him too. We ended up making a sort of truce to work together to help this boy. It worked. We finally got him to tell us about it, and I contacted Aunty… he didn't go back to his family that summer…" Susan took a deep breath. "Well, we kept doing it… helping kids when we found out… Don't know how we didn't see it in Harry though… Anyways, there've been some situations that were—let's just say they were incredibly delicate—too delicate for Aunty to handle. That's when Blaise would bring in his mother. I never asked, but I got the distinct feeling that the method wasn't exactly _legal_…"

Everyone was staring at her with wide eyes. She chanced a glance at her aunt, and was surprised to see her smiling. "Your secret conspirator… I'd always wondered why you wouldn't tell me who it was…"

Susan nodded. "He can help, I know he can."

"I have a problem with this idea." Ginny suddenly burst out. "For one, how do we know we can trust him? He's a Slytherin, and while I might believe that he'd help some poor little Ravenclaw first year I really don't know that I'd trust him to help Harry."

"Let's do it." Ron said abruptly.

"What!?" Hermione, Neville and Ginny all swung around to gape at him, and Susan felt a wave of admiration towards the rash redhead.

"We're out of options." Ron stood up, clasping his hands behind his back and looking at the ceiling. "In chess, when you're up against a master you sometimes have to do the most shocking thing that they wouldn't expect—something random. Isn't that why we're trying to get Snapes' help? Isn't that why we're trying to get a muggle to sneak in there for us? Look, if the only good reason we don't have to trust Zabini is because he's Slytherin—well that's not good enough. Snape's the head of Slytherin—Hell! Malfoy betrayed You-Know-Who to save Harry! If that doesn't convince us that Slytherin isn't anything but a name…"

"I agree. It would be rather unexpected." Luna added thoughtfully. Susan raised an eyebrow. It was the first time the blonde had spoken since she'd opened the door.

Neville slowly turned to look back at Susan. "We still have to ask… How do we know he won't take the chance to sell Harry out to V-Voldemort?"

Susan's eyes widened at Neville, but she shook her head to clear the shock. "Zabini's family was neutral in the last war—actually leaning a little more away from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But this time around, they're getting threats… The Dark Lord is really pushing them to join. They won't. They don't agree with him. The problem—though it's good for us—is that during the first war, Dumbledore tried to blackmail Zabini's mother into being a spy. She refused, of course… But they don't trust Dumbledore at all…"

There was silence at this, and Susan bit her lip as she looked around. She jumped up when Hermione nodded at her, and Ginny smiled.

"Alright. I'll write him a letter—should I have him come here or meet me somewhere first?"

"Tell him to meet you three blocks south of the Leaky Cauldron, and one block east." Hermione quickly said.

Susan nodded, grabbing a piece of parchment off the floor and a worn quill. She dipped it in the ink sloppily.

_Hey_

_Wishing you were here. Absolutely need to see you. Why don't we meet? Three blocks south of the Leaky Cauldron, one block east on the Muggle side. Don't forget the drinks._

_Drop me a note and let me know as soon as you're able._

Susan finished with a flourish, flushing when Ron raised an eyebrow at her. "I know it sounds like we're hooking up—it's a code we worked out so no one would figure out we were working together."

"That's brilliant." Hermione smiled, reading over her shoulder. "I'd have no clue if I read that."

Susan smiled. "It was Blaise' idea. His were always much dirtier than mine."

"I wonder why?" Ginny snorted. She took a deep breath and looked Susan in the eye. "Can this actually work?"

Susan nodded. "If there's any possibility of helping Harry at all, Blaise will find it. He takes abuse very seriously." She suddenly snapped her mouth shut at the understanding gazes that flitted across the faces in front of her. She'd let too much slip. "Please don't repeat that!? I didn't mean to…"

"It won't pass us." Ron assured quietly. He held out Pigwidgeon. Susan quickly tied the short note to his leg and took him to the window. "So now we just have to wait."

Amelia stood up. "I think it would be for the best if I leave you to it. There is enough conflict of interest—if Zabini's' methods aren't legal. Besides, it might not be conducive to have the Head of Magical Law Enforcement present at this sort of meeting."

Susan's eyes widened. "But—you know that Harry needs our help."

"That I do. But I am also bound by my position—so I know better than to put myself in a spot where I might be forced to get in the way of that help."

"We understand." Hermione said. "Thank you for coming, Madame Bones. If you do open an investigation, I'll be willing to testify—under veritiserum if necessary."

"Me too!" Came the clamored reply.

"Much appreciated." Amelia headed to the door. "Be careful, Susan."

"I will, Aunty."


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Severus growled in irritation as he was almost mowed down by a muggle motorist—walking through muggle London was _not_ his idea of a good time. Pettigrew was still camped out at his house—much to his annoyance. He'd been relieved to be able to escape—even if he was never overly fond of the pretentious Order meetings.

But the meeting had been cancelled—by a Weasley dilemma none the less. Apparently, half the brats were missing—including Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood. He had therefore been incredibly shocked when he'd caught sight of Granger in the muggle street. She'd been walking hurriedly, with her head down and he had ducked behind a parked truck so she wouldn't catch sight of him.

Severus had managed to catch Dumbledore before he'd left, but the man's assurances had vexed him.

"They are young and foolish—weren't we all at one point? They are operating under some misguided notion that Harry is in trouble. Plotting a rescue, as it were. Needless to say they are making our job of protecting the boy that much more difficult."

Severus had watched the headmaster leave, pondering over his words. It was strange—he hadn't asked about the foolish offspring of the overabundant redheaded clan. He had flooed to Knockturn Alley, seeking potions' supplies. A great explosion had rocked the next alley over before he'd gotten a chance to floo back to his home, and he'd taken it as a much needed distraction.

Except, it had only confused him further. The Weasley twins had apparently 'accidentally' blown up the top floor of their shop with a potions' experiment.

Severus recognized the smell of rosemary, camphor and ashwinder eggs—a very volatile combination. What bothered him was that the twins knew better—he knew they did.

He watched from a distance as Molly, Arthur and Dumbledore had descended upon the coughing twins—who tried to laugh it off. Even from the corner he was hiding in, he'd been able to hear Molly screaming at them, demanding where Ron and Ginny were.

He watched the entire time as Fred and George had lied through their teeth that they had no idea where their dear brother and sister were—that they'd been busy all afternoon trying to work out the formula for what was sure to be their next best-seller. Even at a distance, Snape had been able to see the lies in their eyes.

Then, Dumbledore pulled them aside—whatever he muttered in their ears caused them to pale. Severus had inched a little closer to try and hear. They quickly started stammering out that, yes, Ron, Ginny, Hermione and Luna had been there—but they didn't know where they'd gone. He very clearly saw the fear and mistrust in their eyes every time they looked at the headmaster. Apparently Arthur saw it too, because he grew very quiet and started fiddling with his glasses in that ridiculous tell of his.

Severus kept himself hidden, slinking back into Knockturn Alley to finish his shopping when Dumbledore had left. Arthur had seen him, and caught up with him before he could slip away.

"Severus? Could I have a word?"

Severus hissed in frustration, but motioned the man away from the door of a shop. He pulled out his wand and hissed. "Muffliato. It will keep us from being overheard." He responded to Arthurs' raised eyebrow.

"Okay." The man fidgeted nervously, and it took all of Severus' patience not to snap at him. Finally, he started speaking. "I just wanted to run something by you—something the kids have been going on about since Harry went back to his relatives for the summer."

Severus nodded, but his stomach clenched tightly.

"They're saying—well they're making awful accusations against Albus. They're saying that he's purposely having Harry tortured at the Dursleys—seem to think that its' all some sort of plan of Dumbledore's to turn Harry into some sort of ideal hero… Well… I don't know about all that, but I do know that Harry has been horribly mistreated… the boy was damn near starved half to death when Ron, Fred and George broke him out a few years back…"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I see."

Arthur took a deep breath. "The thing is—some things don't quite add up about it—what Dumbledore is saying I mean… He's told us that Harry is absolutely fine—I know that's not really true—but he also did something that I find rather—odd. He asked the ministry to set up a ward that would sound an alarm at any witch or wizard that tried to approach the Dursleys. I had planned on making a quick stop by to check on Harry, lay everyone's fears to rest… But I checked with Amelia Bones, and she said that only Dumbledore's magical signature will be recognized by the ward."

Severus' frown deepened, but he didn't say anything.

"What I was wondering, is… Do you think there's any basis for the kids' accusation? Is there any reason to worry? Or are they really just overreacting and lashing out because they're traumatized?"

"You're asking me?" Severus raised an eyebrow. "Surely you don't expect me to know the answer to a question like that."

"You're their teacher—regardless of whether or not you're close to them, you'd know if they couldn't handle the stress from something like what happened at the Ministry—and I talked to Minerva about it already—what she said disturbed me more than anything."

"What did she say?" Severus already knew he wasn't going to like the answer.

"She said that Harry came to her—tried to tell her that he was abused… but apparently Dumbledore had already warned her that Harry was very, very upset about Sirius and was probably going to pull a stunt like that so he didn't have to go back… but I've never known Harry to lie—not about something like that."

The stone that dropped in Severus' stomach was icy, yet burned at the same time. He swallowed over the bile that rose in his throat. "Mr. Potter attacked me outside the Headmasters' office three days after Black was killed—apparently he was hiding under his invisibility cloak and waiting for a chance to speak to Albus. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but he rushed up there and started screaming—Albus simply dismissed him. Then—then he started begging not to go back _there_." Severus hesitated. "I was under the impression that it was an old argument."

Arthurs' eyes widened, and he swore under his breath. He rubbed a hand tiredly through his thinning hair. "I had a bad feeling when this all started boiling up—the kids were going nuts. I've never seen them stand up to Molly like this."

"Mr. Potter also had some _scars_—of rather questionable origin that I discovered when I was treating him after his capture." Severus added slowly, frowning. "However, when I tried to question him about it he got rather angry and told me to 'mind my own fucking business." Severus frowned, another little snippet popping into his head—he immediately decided to keep it to himself.

Arthur had been pale when they parted—Severus had watched him go with a feeling of dread. There was definitely something _very_ wrong with this whole situation.

'The boy just needs to be pushed a little more.' The words echoed in his head as he blindly left Knockturn Alley, no longer interested in potions ingredients. Had that been what Albus had meant? He'd assumed that Potter would be fine—they were old scars and there were plenty of people determined to help him.

'But if Albus is pulling the strings to prevent that…' Severus shook his head at that. It wasn't possible. Yes, the headmaster was incredibly manipulative—to an extreme. But this? Purposeful torture of a fifteen year old boy?

'I'm used to it.' Those words had worried him when Potter had carelessly let them slip—was the boy really so used to pain? It could certainly explain why Potter had fared so well against Bellatrix—even a hardened Death Eater used to the Dark Lords' rages would have been hard pressed to stand that.

'But if this is true, then it's been happening Potters' whole life.' Severus stopped dead at that, a man bumping into him from behind. He'd wandered into muggle London, but couldn't really be bothered by it. Was it possible that Potter had been showing signs of severe abuse and he'd just been too blinded by hate to see it? He knew immediately that the answer was yes.

Shaking his head, he started walking again. It was at this point that he caught sight of one Hermione Granger. She wasn't alone. Susan Bones was walking next to her, looking around nervously.

If he hadn't been thinking about the brats, he would never have noticed them. They were walking with single-minded determination. He waited until they were nearly out of sight before following.

It wasn't long before they met up with a third person—forming a trio he'd never imagined he'd see—either within Hogwarts or out.

Blaise Zabini had raised an eyebrow at Bones before glaring at Granger. A whispered conversation later and they were heading away—apparently taking a route that Granger knew well.

The sinking feeling had only increased as he realized what it meant—he followed more carefully after Blaise joined the group—the boy was very observant.

He knew that Blaise and Susan had some sort of odd truce going on—they were the most outrageous pair he'd ever seen. They were discreet, and Severus would have simply assumed they were casual lovers if Blaise hadn't come to him one day with a problem.

He hadn't quite known how to take it when the boy informed him that he was secretly helping abused children with an 'unnamed' partner. Nor had he known quite how to deal with it when Zabini had matter of factly told him that one Orla Quirke of Ravenclaw was being molested by her second cousin—escaped Death Eater Antonin Dolohov and that the only thing Zabini needed from him was an alibi—preferably a 'detention' over the next Hogsmeade weekend. He hadn't explained further than that—but the girl had 'gone missing.'

It had been brilliant—Severus could admit that to himself. Dolohov had always disgusted him—but the man had no clue what had happened to the girl. He didn't even suspect her family.

However, what worried him in this moment was that Zabini and Bones were meeting, outside of school—and Granger was in the mix. It didn't sit right, particularly in light of the conversation he'd just had with Arthur.

He followed them for a few more blocks, watching them slip into a dingy alleyway. By the time he approached it, they had disappeared.

Severus walked into the alley, frowning. To his right, he felt the vague hum of a rather strong ward—what type of ward he couldn't tell. He did know better than to try and break it—half the Ministry would come raining down on his head if he made a display like that in muggle London. It was well beyond his means.

Severus shook his head again. Whatever was going on, Zabini would be more than capable of handling it. The boy was truly a genius. Besides, he'd wasted enough of his day with this foolish business already. Making sure no one was looking, he apparated back to Spinners' End.

Pettigrew was missing in action, something that pleased him immensely. He immediately went down to the lab in his cellar and tried to lose himself in making a new batch of Dreamless Sleep—he was completely out.

However, his peace was interrupted by a little twit of an owl that slammed into the narrow window in his basement. He'd angrily opened the window, snatching the owl out of the air as it made to zoom over his head.

"Who the bloody hell…" He raised an eyebrow. The Weasleys Wizard Wheezes logo blared out on the sealed envelope boldly. He shooed the owl back out the window and sat down. This was just bizarre. He set the envelope on the table, waving every diagnostic and detection spell he knew. It was just a letter. Growling, he ran a hand through his hair before ripping the letter open and reading it quickly.

_Dear Professor Snape_

_Salutations! My brother and I would first like to thank you for your previous advice. It was a huge help! We're no longer having problems with the bludger biscuits spontaneously combusting. Much obliged. We'd like to propose a consultant fee—perhaps 50 galleons per consultation would be fair? Let us know if that's not enough._

_Anyways, the reason we're writing is that we've been having a lot of trouble with our formula for our flaming flatulence line of sweets—bet you can't guess what they do! We can't seem to figure out how to stabilize the mixture of rosemary, camphor and ashwinder eggs—today we blew up our shop. Can you imagine? _

_If you have the time, we'd be pleased to buy you lunch. Perhaps tomorrow around noon? Since you were so fond of that muggle restaurant in Bristol, we thought you might like 'The Bridge.' It's a rather chic place that overlooks the river. We hear that the salmon is absolutely to die for._

_Hoping to see you soon,_

_Fred and George Weasley_

Severus blinked dumbly at the letter. "What the fuck!?" When had he ever given the Weasley beasts advice—on their pranking merchandise no less!? And what the blazes were they talking about—the muggle restaurant in Bristol? He abhorred going out in the muggle world at all if he could avoid it.

_Rosemary, camphor and ashwinder_… Severus frowned. This had something to do with why they purposely blew up their shop. He stood up and started pacing. It was a stupid request—anyone who knew anything about potions knew that rosemary, camphor and ashwinder eggs couldn't be mixed—couldn't be stabilized. So why were they wasting his time?

'Because they aren't asking for help with potions.' Severus realized suddenly. He frowned down at the letter. It was a code. But a code for what? What could the little beasts possibly want? And how the bloody hell did they expect him to decipher an unknown code from an untested source? Were they mad?

"Completely barking." He muttered, noticing that the base for his Dreamless Sleep had congealed. He swore and vanished it with a wave of his wand. This had to have something to do with Potter. He snorted. Could they be trying to ask for his help? Why would they do that? Hadn't they stubbornly refused his help at every turn?

"Don't expect they've actually learned from their mistakes—they must be desperate." That did give him pause. How desperate did they have to be to ask him, Severus Snape for help? Under the guise of a stupid consultation request that clearly showed they were fearful of unfriendly eyes.

Severus sighed, slumping into a seat and wordlessly summoning a bottle of whiskey. He didn't bother with a glass, just popped the top and took a long swig.

"It has to do with Potter…" He muttered darkly, rereading the letter. "Is the situation really that bad?"

He allowed his imagination to go a little wild, wondering exactly what it was that Potter could be going through—he couldn't really picture anything completely horrendous. Whatever motives Dumbledore had, he still needed Harry alive and well. But, Dumbledore had also blatantly ignored Severus' warning that Harry was nowhere near recovered enough from his time with Bellatrix—he'd been weary of sending Potter back there before he suspected a thing. If Potter was continually being harmed—the damage could be phenomenal.

Severus frowned. It was the way Arthur had described it. 'The kids seem to think that Dumbledore is having Harry tortured.' They used that word specifically. If it were even close to the truth, then Potter could be in very bad shape.

But Dumbledore wouldn't allow it to go too far—at the end of the day he still needed Potter to be the bloody chosen one—which wouldn't happen if the boy became a drooling invalid.

With that understanding, Severus didn't feel so bad when he flung the letter aside and decided he'd decide tomorrow whether he'd go or not.

Instead, he trailed back upstairs. Pettigrew squeaked and fled from him as he glared at the little rodent. "And where exactly have you been today?"

"Just went out for some fresh air."

"That is a rather appealing idea—why don't you step out for some more?" Severus' meaning was very clear, and Pettigrew quickly darted back out of the house. It gave Severus a bit of fierce pleasure to see the abhorrent little man scamper away scared like the rat he was.

Severus took the bottle with him to the bedroom, double checking that he had a sobriety potion tucked away in case he needed to sober up quickly—if the Dark Lord called him. He sank down into a well-worn armchair and took another long drink.

If he did go meet the Weasleys, what would he do? He'd hear them out of course—but he wasn't exactly in a position to help Potter from whatever situation the boy was in. He couldn't very well go marching down to the Ministry and demand that the ward be taken down—and Dumbledore certainly wouldn't listen to him if he demanded that the boy was removed from his relatives. It wasn't as if he had any authority whatsoever over the boy.

Severus took another long swig—choking slightly at the burn in his throat. Besides, he'd offered Potter help before the boy had been sent back to that place. If the situation was so desperate, why hadn't Potter reached out to him? He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he was only coming up with question upon questions—and certainly didn't have any answers.

The burning in his forearm hit with a vengeance, and the bottle he was holding crashed to the floor. Whatever was going on with Potter and the terrible two would have to wait. He wordlessly fished his sobering potion out of the nightstand drawer and swallowed it, grabbing his cloak as he rushed down the stairs and out the door.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Harry blinked down at the patch of floor he had been scrubbing for the last half-hour. It was clean—too clean. His hands were bright red—the skin shining and burning something awful.

But every inch of his body was on fire, but he couldn't stop shivering from the cold. Looking around, Harry realized that he had scrubbed the single patch of the kitchen floor so thoroughly that there wasn't a single stain on it. That meant he had to do the rest just as thoroughly.

Wincing as he shifted, Harry ducked the scrub brush back into the bucket. The bleach set each sore and blister on his hand burning in agony, but he forced himself to ignore it.

It was Saturday—Harry was fairly certain. Otherwise, his uncle would be at work. Instead, the man had been lazing around the house—ordering Harry to cook breakfast.

That had been a disaster.

Harry was certain that his nerves were completely fried—the tremors getting worse and worse as each day passed. This morning, he'd had another fit while cooking breakfast. He had burned himself pretty badly in the resulting grease fire—the soot of which he was now scrubbing from the kitchen. He had then been ordered to clean the kitchen spotless—an impossible task. Harry grimaced.

Two days earlier, Vernon had caught Dudley sneaking Harry out of the cupboard. He'd exploded, hitting his son across the face. Only Harry's quick explanation that Vernon was an idiot had saved his cousin from the belt Vernon was waving around.

"You must be an idiot, if you can't tell that I've bewitched him." Harry had forced himself to laugh—and had promptly received the worst beating of his life.

Harry still didn't remember most of it. But he figured it had been about two days—he'd been locked in the cupboard the _whole_ time. Dudley didn't sneak down to let him out again, and Harry had the sneaking suspicion that Vernon had been kipping in the Hallway just to make sure.

He'd been let out by his aunt, early in the morning—told to clean up. He'd gladly done so, though the lukewarm water had seared his minced flesh and sent him darkly into another fit. She'd been somewhat decent to him, feeding him oatmeal before anyone else woke up. He didn't question it, instead shoving down the oatmeal with all the enthusiasm of a starved-dog—realizing belatedly that was pretty much what he was.

But that meager meal had just turned things worse—he'd vomited violently when he was coming out of the tremor that had caused the kitchen fire. Vernon had roared, grabbing his neck tightly and demanding where he'd gotten the food.

"I stole it." Harry told him flatly.

He'd been boxed hard across the jaw, accidentally spitting blood into his uncles' face.

He was almost certain his collarbone was fractured, and his ankle was broken from his uncle literally throwing him across the room.

Now, Harry was methodically going through the motions of scrubbing the soot off the floor—he'd already gotten most of it off the stove. Dudley was gone, and his aunt was staying busy upstairs—Harry had no idea where his uncle was at the moment.

Harry retched dryly, shuddering and scooting away from his cleaning bucket—it was happening again. He fought hard against the spotty darkness that was quickly taking over his vision, and instead focused on his breathing. In…Out…In… Out.

It worked decently—at least he didn't pass out from the pain most of the time. He was breathing heavily and gasping, head hung towards the ground as he slowly crawled back towards his cleaning bucket.

"Slacking, are you!?"

Harry jerked his head up, staring at his uncles' knees that had stopped on the other side of the bucket. Harry remained silent, waiting.

"Answer me boy!" Vernon kicked the bucket angrily.

Harry screamed when the bleach splashed into his face—hitting his eyes. He desperately tried to wipe at them, but his shirt was just as sodden with the stuff, and it was all over his hands. He tried to scramble for the sink, but a hand yanked roughly on his arm.

"What do you think you're doing? I didn't give you permission to take a break!"

"No! My eyes! I can't see!" Harry blinked furiously over the burning in his eyes. He tried to wrench out of Vernon's grasp, but the grip tightened and his arm was yanked harshly—a loud pop sounded and Harry yelled again.

"Let go of me!"

And Vernon did—dropping his dislocated arm as if he'd been burned. Harry realized belatedly that he had been.

"How dare you use your _freakishness_ in this house! I warned you before that the next time would be the last time!" Harry tried to scramble around the table, but was caught by the back of his shirt. He choked as the collar was pulled tight, and started kicking as he was dragged towards the cupboard. Terror filled him like never before—he couldn't be locked in there—not with his eyes burning from the undiluted bleach his uncle had insisted he use to clean with.

"No! Let me go!" Harry collapsed in a heap on the ground when his uncle howled in pain and let him go. He pushed himself up and limped up the stairs as fast as he could. He yelled loudly when a hand caught his foot and yanked him back down—then he couldn't catch his breath when he slammed down hard on the stairs. He kicked out blindly, hitting something soft and causing his uncle to yell again. The grip didn't relinquish, however and the large man was slowly dragging him down the stairs.

"Get off me!" Harry yelled again, whipping around and spitting a mouthful of blood at Vernon. His eyes were wide, and Harry winced as he wrenched his already broken ankle just a little more.

"You fucking walrus!" Harry didn't know what the point was—he just knew his uncle looked incredibly like a walrus when he was flat on his belly and his head was cocked to the side.

Harry didn't stop to admire the effects—the hand couldn't hold onto him any more when it turned into a flipper, and Harry took the opportunity to crawl the rest of the way up the stairs. Petunia was watching him, eyes wide. He ignored her, forcing himself to his feet and stumbling down the hall. Before he could duck into the bathroom, she was after him.

"You turn him back this instant!"

Harry stumbled back as she swung at him, wincing when his back hit the wall. Her next blow hit his stomach, and the wall behind him rattled. It wasn't a wall—it was a door. It opened at a thought from him and he fell backwards, scrambling back and willing it shut even as Petunia tried to advance. She screamed in rage—and maybe a little pain as the door slammed on her face.

"You open this door right this second, you freak! You fix this! So help me I'm going to skin you alive!"

Harry shuddered, crawling further back. Tears were still pouring down his face, and he gasped as his back hit something soft behind him—it was a bed. He could barely make out a computer and a large television—he was in Dudley's room.

Swearing, Harry wiped desperately at his eyes, but it did no good. His hands were just as covered in bleach and his shirt was soaked with it. He continued scooting back away from the door where Petunia was still pounding, backing away until his back hit the dresser, and pulled his knees up to his chest.

A sob tore from his throat. What was he going to do? He couldn't contact anyone—and if he didn't get help he'd—what?

The dawning realization made him sob harder, even as another tremor shot through him. He swallowed harshly, once again rubbing at his burning eyes.

"I'll go blind." Harry muttered, letting his head fall back against the dresser. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to ignore the horrible burning that was slowly just becoming another piece of the whole. He couldn't breathe right—his side screamed every time he took a breath. And his arm was hanging limply at his side.

"Fuck." Harry spat. "Fuck! FUCK!" Heavy coughs wracked his body, and a shiver followed. Sweat was pouring down his forehead, and the room was starting to look hazy.

"No!" Harry shook his head, trying to clear his vision. The action made him dizzy, and he slumped over sideways, crying out when his unmoving arm splayed at an unnatural angle.

"GET OUT HERE AND TURN HIM BACK RIGHT NOW OR I'LL KILL YOU!"

"If you kill me, I won't be able to turn him back." Harry muttered darkly. He wasn't sure if his aunt heard him. He squeezed his eyes closed at the wave of nausea and retched violently, his whole body contracted and he choked on the bile and blood.

A dreadful certainty filled him as another wave of tremors wracked his body and he fought to breathe. He was dying—he was sure of it. The only other time he'd been so certain was when the Basilisk venom had been spreading from his arm. The sound of his aunts' screaming was becoming muted, and he smiled humorlessly as he thought grimly about what Dumbledore would do when they found his beloved savior dead in the muggle house that had served as his 'greatest protection.'

The wave of darkness rolled over him—and for once he didn't try to fight it.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure how much later it was when he woke up—it was dark. But that wasn't right. He could feel the sun beating on him from Dudley's window. Harry cried out as he pushed himself into a sitting position, blinking furiously. He couldn't see a thing—he refused to admit what that might mean.

Numbness spread through Harry. He wasn't dead—yet. He couldn't see, and his aunt was still trying to beat down the door—though she had stopped screaming. What was going to happen to him when his aunt got a hold on him in this state—or worse, his uncle?

Harry shuddered, drawing a shaky breath and slowly letting it back out again. His breath rattled harshly, and he broke down into another coughing fit.

"Damnit boy! Open this door!"

Harry jumped at his aunts' voice, perfectly achieving Vernon's demanding tone. He felt around with his left hand, grasping weakly at one of the dresser drawers to try and pull himself to his feet. His ankle shot pain up his leg when he put weight on it, and he reached blindly out for something to steady himself. His hand grasped at air, and he crashed heavily to the floor with a yell.

Harry sobbed brokenly, not trying to move from where he'd landed face down on the carpet. He could feel his disconnected shoulder wrenching painfully under his weight with each gasp, but rolling over proved to be too much. The doorbell rang, and Harry focused on the sound of his aunt leaving the hallway—if he'd been able to move he would have made a run for it.

At least running blind through the streets would likely have given him a very fast death—Harry sniffed. He'd rather go out being creamed by a car than slowly, hiding like he was.

"Damn." Harry whispered. "Damn it all. I swear I'm going to make _him_ pay for this."

And just like that his resolve was back. He couldn't let Dumbledore get away with this—who knew how many people had suffered just like he had at the hands of the manipulative bastard. How many more would Dumbledore get his dirty hands on before he was done?

Harry growled, finally rolling over onto his side. He could do this. He just had to use his head—think like Dumbledore—No! Think like a Slytherin.

He knew there was a way for the Dursleys to get ahold of the Order. They only had to contact Ms. Figg. Arabella Figg—Harry suddenly felt a rush of loathing towards the old squib. How could she have just stood by and watched all these years? Was she just oblivious, or was she too enamored with Dumbledore to care?

"I'm getting side tracked." Harry told himself bluntly. He heard his aunt stomping back up the stairs, and braced himself. He took as deep a breath as he dared and called. "I need a healer."

There was a few seconds of silence, before Petunias' voice echoed through the door. "I need a husband who isn't a walrus!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't you laugh at him! This is all your fault! Why couldn't you have just died with your worthless parents and left my family in peace! You ruined _everything_!"

"Yeah, yeah." Harry snorted. "I'm dying."

There was silence at his bluntness, but a few seconds later she started pounding on the door more furiously than ever.

"No! You will not die and leave my husband like this! Open this door and turn him back! NOW!"

Harry couldn't help but feel the sting of her apathy just a little. Was that all that mattered? That he turn Vernon back into himself? Harry gritted his teeth.

"You stupid woman! You will go to Arabella Figg right now and tell her that a healer needs to be sent here." Harry hissed—it was barely loud enough, but he knew she could hear him.

"Figg!? Batty old Figg? The cat lady!? She moved out a week ago! What the hell are you on about!?"

Harry groaned at that. "Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!" He started coughing again, and let his eyes slip closed again. "Guess you're just going to have to live with the walrus then."

There was more silence and then "OH NO YOU DON'T! YOU ARE GOING TO CHANGE HIM BACK! I DON'T CARE IF IT'S WITH YOUR DYING BREATH!"

Harry shuddered as he heard her race away down the hall. "Wonder where Dudley is in all this?" But he couldn't really bring himself to care. He was really, truly at the end of the line. He felt overwhelmingly tired.

"No… Don't go to sleep…" He muttered to himself, forcing his eyes open—for all the good it did him he didn't see why he bothered. "There has to be something…"

But he could think of nothing. He didn't have any way to contact _anyone_—didn't even have a wand to do magic with to try and get the attention of the ministry. In fact, he couldn't understand why he hadn't already gotten the Ministry's attention with the magic he had already done.

The sound of Petunia stumbling back up the stairs startled him, and he slowly pushed himself until he was sitting up—back against Dudley's bed. An electric roar filled the hallway, and Harry heard the door rattle and his aunt laughing hysterically. "Great. She's gone mad." His head dipped forward onto his chest, and he silently willed the saw to break. A second later, a loud boom was heard on the other side of the door and he heard his aunt scream, followed by the sound of something heavy thudding on the carpet.

"Bloody hell." Harry muttered, cocking his head to listen better. "I think I just did that. Wonder if I could do it again?"

He focused hard—and it took him a minute to realize he wasn't focusing on anything in particular—he was just focusing. Swallowing, he tried to think of something he wanted. It took him a while. He knew he wanted to get the hell out of there, but that was a little vague—even if he'd had a wand.

"I'm cold." He finally decided. "I need a blanket."

Almost as soon as Harry thought it the blanket eased off the bed next to him. He sloppily pulled it over him. "Well that's something…" He told himself without much conviction—he was still trapped, blind and couldn't move—and it wasn't like he could just wandlessly levitate himself down Privet Drive—though the thought did amuse him somewhat.

"Wonder if I could cast a Patronus—send it down the street to try and get help…" Harry mused. He focused, but couldn't seem to find a happy memory—so he ended up just shouting "Expecto Patronum!" with nothing happening.

"Damn."

If only he could apparate—but even then he wouldn't be able to get help. There were wards that prevented that sort of intrusion.

"If only I were a house elf, and wards didn't matter to me." Harry muttered, smiling as he remembered the first time he had met Dobby. Then he frowned. Wait! He had a house elf!

He choked again in his excitement, but managed to calm his breathing down enough to whisper "Kreacher."

"Master called." The house elf's wheezy voice asked, even as the 'pop' sounded in the room.

Harry smiled victoriously, before frowning in thought. He had a messenger—now what was he going to do? Have Kreacher take him to Grimmauld Place?

"No…. That would be too obvious…" Harry muttered, shaking his head and reeling from another wave of dizziness. And he very well couldn't go prancing off to some unknown location—no. He needed to bring someone there. But who?

Who would possibly be able to help him when everyone else had either forgotten about him or failed to help him already?

"Kreacher." Harry said again, swallowing thickly. "I need you to be very discreet about this, do you understand?"

"Kreacher understands."

"Good. You are to talk to no one—no one at all. You will show yourself to no one, except the person I say. I need you to find someone for me—wait until he's absolutely alone. And I mean truly alone—not just stepped outside for a minute—no one must be expecting him back for a few hours at least…" Harry trailed off as he started coughing again, forcing himself to keep gasping out his orders despite the pain creeping up his spine.

He heard Kreacher say, "Yes master." Before there was the telling 'pop' and everything was silent again. He gasped, clutching at his ribs when the tremors forcefully took over. 'I hope this works.' He thought blankly. 'Because if it doesn't, I don't have any other options.'


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Blaise grinned at the Weasley twins from his position across the street—he was wearing a black t-shirt and ripped jeans, bobbing his head in time with imaginary music—the headset conveniently preventing any passersby from engaging him in conversation. Quite a few girls stopped to give him the once over, which definitely stroked his ego. It he hadn't been in the middle of something, he'd have gladly chased some of them down to do a little _stroking_ of a different sort.

He grinned as he waited patiently for the man—Greg something or the rather—a muggle that had owed his family a favor. He'd pulled out all the stops for this one, and though he was taking a huge risk, he wasn't willing to back down—from the challenge or from the twisted headmaster that was quickly turning into the greatest opponent Blaise had ever faced in his sixteen years.

This mission was damn near impossible—and he'd hardly been able to believe it when Granger had explained it to him.

He didn't blame Susan for calling him into this one—it was way beyond her aunt to help—hell it was way beyond him. But he couldn't back down.

Not to mention, he found the odd team rather—_intriguing_—to say the least.

Hermione—a complete powerhouse of knowledge—a genius in her own right—perfectly countered the imbecilic redhead. Though Blaise had to give him credit for his strategy… He guessed that made Ron a sort-of-genius. He had been impressed—and had been man enough to admit it. Ginny was completely ruthless—he'd already known that from watching the girl play quidditch—but seeing it in person when someone threatened one of her own… He'd rather stay out of that line of fire. Longbottom was a bit harder to get a correct reading on—the clumsy boy was timid, unsure of himself, and less than mediocre—but there were times when Blaise could see the fire burning in his eyes and would pity the poor fool who got caught at the end of Neville's wand.

Then, there was Luna. She was just—odd. But she was rather out of the box—and it worked. It had been her idea to send in a muggle to a magic-restricted zone. So he guessed that made her a kind of insane-genius—like the mad scientists in the muggle comic books he was so fond of.

Then there was Potter—he'd never spoken two words to the kid—and here he was putting everything on the line to help him. And why? Well, besides the obvious that he absolutely loathed abuse—and the less obvious thrill he felt at such a challenge. It was because Potter was a survivor.

He'd had a long talk with Susan when they'd finally had a chance to slip away from their overzealous co-conspirators. She had finally confided that she felt _guilty_ because she never noticed—even after spending time with Potter.

"Don't." Blaise had told her simply. "Potter is made of different stuff than the rest of us. He isn't like the other kids we've helped. His heart could probably be clawing its' way out of his chest and he'd keep smiling and put on the act until it was twitching on the floor."

She had grimaced at his imagery, but had been appeased. He had smiled and ruffled her hair—which he knew annoyed her. "This is going to be a tough one."

"I know." She had rested her hand on his arm for minute before heading back inside to the rest of the crew.

Blaise sighed and started pacing a slow circle around the sign he was waiting in front of. He fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it—inhaling deeply. He saw the twins raise their eyebrows at him from the corner of his eye and smirked—it was all part of the façade.

Finally, the blue car pulled into the parking lot next to him, and he walked over sedately. Greg rolled down the window and shook his head when Blaise glanced questioningly in the back.

"The woman answered the door—I didn't see the son. She was holding a hatchet, and just told me that she was busy before slamming the door in my face."

Blaise frowned. "Hatchet?"

"Its' a small axe."

Blaise swore, throwing his cigarette on the ground and stomping it with his boot. "Was that all? Did you see anything—she hadn't used the hatchet on anyone, had she?"

The man shook his head. "There was a walrus at the bottom of the stairs—your mother told me about familiars—but a walrus?"

Blaise shook his head, frowning in confusion. His dark eyes sought out the twins—who were watching his every move. "No. Potter does not have a familiar."

"I see. She was terribly upset and out of breath. Heard her screaming when I was walking up the walk. I tried knocking after she slammed the door on me, but she just shouted through the door that she was busy."

Blaise sighed, and held out his hand. "Oh well. It was worth a shot. Thanks for your help."

The man took his hand and shook it firmly. "After what your mum did for my family, this is the least I can do."

Blaise nodded, walking away as the car backed up. This was bad. Plan C it was.

Plan A had been to sneak a muggle in to try and smuggle Harry out—the muggle in question had come from a long list of people that had sworn up and down that if his mother ever needed anything they would do whatever they could to try and repay her.

Blaise had called in a lot of those favors this time around.

Plan B had fallen through the cracks when Severus Snape had failed to show up for the meeting with the twins. He hadn't even written back.

Blaise nodded at the twins, looking both ways before running across the street. They were leaning against the side of a building—wearing matching leather jackets, dark sunglasses and slim fitting jeans over dragon hide boots—Blaise thought they looked ridiculous.

"That's a no go." Blaise muttered.

"Right. We're up then."

Blaise nodded. "Fifteen minutes." He turned and started walking briskly down the street. A few blocks down he caught sight of Luna, Ginny and Susan—they were sitting on the curb with shopping bags and chatting amiably. Neville was inconspicuously reading a magazine nearby. "Ladies." He smirked down at them.

"Hello." Ginny spoke up, eyes questioning. "Do we know you?"

Blaise almost grimaced before spouting the predetermined reply—that hadn't been _his_ idea. "No. But I think you'd like to."

All three girls tensed before they stared him down and shouted at him to "Get lost!"

Blaise did, and to any outsider it would appear that they were just random teenagers being stupid. He glanced at his watch and started jogging. He only had seven more minutes before the twins made their move.

Another favor Blaise had called in had gotten him information about the new ward around Privet Drive. It was roughly four blocks squared—and it wasn't impenetrable—it would just alert the Aurors office and the office of Magical Law Enforcement when someone passed through the ward. Either in or out—however once inside the ward there was really no way to be detected. He'd managed to find out the exact boundary of the ward—and the estimated response time of the Aurors. They'd have less than a minute.

Ron and Hermione were walking sedately along the other side of the boundary, and Blaise was out of breath when he caught up to them. They were both just wearing jeans and t-shirts—though he could make out the line of their wands in their pockets. "Yo! You guys up for a show?"

They both swung around, easily catching the meaning.

"Sure thing." Ron lowered his voice. "How long?"

"Another minute." Blaise muttered, looking at his watch. They slowly kept walking, keeping to the edge of the boundary while waiting for the 'distraction.'

It came with little warning—suddenly fireworks were shooting everywhere. Not just any fireworks either—but magical ones that the Weasleys had developed the year before—suddenly dragons, flying pigs and leprechauns were zooming all over the place—the muggles started screaming. Blaise shot Ron and Hermione a look before sprinting for all he was worth into the warded zone.

More and more fireworks kept joining the fray, and the air was buzzing thick with magic. This display made the one at Hogwarts look like child's play. The twins had emptied all their reserves, and were planning on releasing a couple portable swamps just for the hell of it.

Just as they'd hoped, they were lost in the clamor as muggles started fleeing left and right—he lost sight of Ron and Hermione quickly, but didn't sway from his course—until he ran smack dab into one of the largest muggle boys he had ever seen. He was knocked on his ass, and pulled back to his feet just as quickly. He raised an eyebrow at the giant that towered over him.

"Sorry 'bout that." The boy didn't take his eyes off the display, and didn't seem to realize he was crushing Blaise's hand with his tightened grip. He didn't look particularly shocked about the nature of the fireworks, which made Blaise raise an eyebrow. He finally got his hand free as the boy started muttering.

"Oh. Harrys' going to be in so much trouble when dad sees this."

Blaise felt his jaw drop. "Harry? As in Potter?"

The boy blinked stupidly, and turned to look at him. He was sporting a black eye, and Blaise raised an eyebrow. "You know my cousin? Are you a friend from his school?"

Blaise didn't quite know how to respond to that statement without lying, so he just nodded.

"Please tell me you've come to take him away."

"I have." Blaise fought down his shock, and raised an eyebrow, tensing as tell-tale 'pops' started intermixing into the sounds of panic. "But it's complicated. No one must know I'm here."

The boy Blaise now realized must be Dudley nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Your dad do that to you?" Blaise asked cautiously. The boy blushed, and his shoulders stiffened. "I know what's happening to Harry. That's why I'm here."

Dudley nodded, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "I was trying to help him." He muttered quietly. "And dad caught me."

Blaise shifted nervously as an Auror he vaguely recognized went rushing past with two Ministry employees that he didn't—he could tell that they were wizards because of their lack of finesse in choosing their muggle clothing. A suit jacket with athletic pants? Please.

"Is there somewhere we can go?" Blaise asked quickly. "Not to your house, I mean—but somewhere close. I need to hide out for a little while."

Dudley frowned, but nodded and motioned for Blaise to follow. Blaise did so, watching closely and noticing more and more witches and wizards around him. This was dangerous.

But no one paid very much attention to the two muggle boys that were jogging through the crowd—finally, they got to another house that hardly differed from the surrounding houses, and Dudley banged on the door. A pointy faced, skinny stick of a kid answered—eyeing Blaise up and down before stepping inside to let Dudley and him in.

"Yo big D. Who blacked your eye? Did you pummel them?"

Blaise immediately noticed the tensed shoulders and butted in. "He did! You should have seen it, it was bloody brilliant! The guy had to have been six-four at least, and he was thick as a bloody horse!"

Dudley grinned at him over the head of his gaping friend. "Really!? And I missed it? Damn."

Blaise grinned, looking out the window. "Yo, D? How close are we to your house?"

Dudley came to the window, and pointed. "Its three over—on the other side of this row."

"Can you believe this stuff!? I've never seen anything like it."

Blaise smiled to himself. This was bloody brilliant. His eyes narrowed as he saw Ginny being led away by a burly ministry employee. He could barely make out her split lip and the wand shoved into her back. That was at least one down.

"So what's your name, anyways?" Blaise turned to see the pointy-faced little git eyeing him suspiciously and grinned.

"What's yours?"

The boys' eyes narrowed. "I asked you first."

Blaise gave him a look that he would never admit he'd stolen from Snape. Nor would he ever admit that he'd spent hours practicing it in the mirror to get it just right. He raised an eyebrow, lip curling up. "Touchy, aren't we?"

The boy cracked, and threw a glare at Dudley. "Piers."

"Piers?" Blaise rolled the name around on his tongue, and grinned. "Blaise."

"What the hell kind of name is that?"

Blaise didn't respond, turning his attention back out the window.

"I'm talking to you!"

"And I'm _not_ talking to you." Blaise muttered, frowning when he saw the second Weasley being dragged along—at least Ron was putting up a hell of a fight. He caught the brief flash of a stunning spell. Then, a grin spread across his face and he turned to Piers. "Your parents home?"

Piers shook his head, and Blaise slipped out his wand. He barely saw Dudley's eyes widen in fear before he muttered "Stupefy." Piers crumpled to the ground.

"What are you doing!?"

"He's just stunned. He'll wake up in a few hours at the most—I'll even obliviate him so he won't remember and thinks he's fainted."

Dudley stammered, but didn't argue and Blaise cast a short oblivation charm on the downed boy. "He won't even remember we were here. Sorry. But we need to be able to talk openly." He sighed and turned his gaze back out the window.

"Harry's in bad shape." Dudley burst out. "I don't know how much more he can take—he keeps having these seizures… said it was nerve damage from some torture spell…"

Blaise's eyes widened, and he slowly turned back to the boy. "And no one has gotten help for him? That's serious!"

Dudley was trembling, eyes still glued to the wand in his hand. Blaise slowly put it back in his pocket.

"We didn't really have a choice—that man—the headmaster or whoever he was—he took Harrys' owl. And the lady we were supposed to contact in case of an emergency—she moved out! It was really weird! Like… I don't know… Like he didn't really want Harry to be able to contact anyone. Dad has his _thing_ and has it locked up somewhere. He's locked up Harrys' trunk in the attic."

Blaise sneered, starting to pace. He darted his eyes back to the window every few seconds. "His _thing_!? What's that, his prick!?"

Dudley guffawed stupidly for a second, but shook his head and whispered. "No. His wand."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Why couldn't you just say that?"

Dudley fidgeted. "We're not allowed to use that word—or magic, sorcery, spell, charm, broom, warts—basically anything mum and dad think might have anything to do with Harrys' school."

"Hogwarts." Blaise had a sinking feeling. "They hate magic, don't they?"

Dudley nodded. He was kneading his fist with one hand. "Dad still thinks he could beat it out of him."

Blaise turned back to the window. "We're going to have to wait here until all this dies down—there's Ministry people all over the place out there. When it's all settled you're going to take me to your house—introduce me as one of your friends and tell your parents' I'm going to spend the night."

"But my friends never spend the night."

"Alright, then tell them we're going to watch a movie before I go home. I don't care—just make sure I get into the house. Now, by that time I'm not going to be able to get away with using magic—the only reason I did just now is because there's a ton of witches and wizards out there trying to get everything under control—so I'm going to have to walk Harry out of the house. Is he in fit enough shape to do that?"

Dudley nodded, shook his head, and then nodded again.

"What the bloody hell does that mean!?"

"It means that I don't know. He set the kitchen on fire this morning with one of his seizures—dad was livid—I didn't stay to see what happened. He only just barely got let out of the cupboard."

Blaise shuddered. "Cupboard!? Bloody hell… can this get any more twisted?"

Dudley twitched a little, and Blaise narrowed his eyes. "It is, isn't it? More twisted, I mean. You're about to tell me something horrifying that even Granger didn't know or suspect—I didn't know about the cupboard..." Blaise turned his darkened gaze to the window, and immediately ducked. Rufeus Scrimgeour was out there—walking boldly down the street. Blaise definitely knew him—he was a friend of his mum.

"What is it?" Dudley ducked down next to him.

"The bloody Minister of Magic—we've really done it now." Blaise muttered, not daring to peak back up over the window.

"Wait a minute—why are you hiding from the Minister? And why wouldn't he want to help Harry? Why wouldn't any of them want to help Harry?"

Blaise looked at the confused boy, sighing. "Its' not that they don't want to help Harry—its' that they don't think he needs help. And they think we're going to be putting him at risk if we try to rescue him. That's why they put up the ward—and why we had to make such a huge distraction. I know at least two of us have been caught. What we're doing is highly illegal—mind you. We've probably broken about twenty wizarding laws today—not to mention the ones we broke when we were planning this thing. But we all knew the risk—and we're all willing to take the risks to help Harry."

Dudley's eyes were wide. "So what you're telling me, is that you're wizarding criminal?"

Blaise smirked. "Nah. Not a criminal 'til I'm convicted, now am I?" He leaned his head back against the wall. "Don't suppose you know where they keep the food in this place?"

Dudley waved towards the kitchen. Keeping low, Blaise hurried into the room. He straightened up when he was out of sight of the window and started looking into the cupboards. "Just junk." He made a face, instead leaning against the counter and lighting another cigarette. He offered one to Dudley when he wandered in.

"Thanks." Dudley murmured. "You know… you're very normal for a freak—" He slapped his hand over his mouth when Blaise glared at him. "Sorry… just a habit…"

Blaise cocked his head to the side, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. "Doesn't matter. After today, you'll never see me again."

Dudley fell silent, smoking his cigarette furiously until it was just a smoldering filter. Blaise tensed when he heard the door open and voices drifted in. "Gone for a day and the whole neighborhood has gone to the dogs—we're moving!"

"Piers' parents." Dudley whispered. Blaise crept into the hallway silently, drawing his wand. The man and woman were standing in the doorway watching as people continued to run amok. Blaise waited until the door snapped closed to stun both of them. He snuck back to the window—he didn't recognize anyone and the bustle was starting to die down—but here and there stood a person who was obviously a witch or wizard—he could always tell. He slipped back into the kitchen and pulled out a stool from the counter. "Guess all we have to do now is wait."

It was growing close to midnight before Blaise deemed it safe to exit the house. Even after the commotion had completely died he'd warned Dudley that the obliviators were still out. His point was proven when a dark figure had stepped out of the bushes to waylay a couple. So they had waited a few more hours. They had discovered that the power was out when it had grown dark—none of the lights worked. "Probably too much residual magic in the air." Blaise had explained.

Blaise wasn't entirely sure they'd waited long enough by the time they were creeping around the block. He'd had to stop and double check that they wouldn't be crossing the ward. No one stopped them, and they made it to Number 4 with no problems. The darkened windows loomed ominously, but Blaise steeled himself as Dudley led them into the dark hallway.

"Mum? Dad? Sorry I'm late!"

There was no answer, and Blaise tensed when he heard movement very close to them. He closed the door, and whispered to Dudley. "How 'bout a candle?"

Dudley stumbled off into the darkness, and Blaise waited patiently while the boy rummaged in the next room. He heard the muffled curse when something banged loudly. Finally, he saw a flicker of light and went to the doorway. Dudley was staring transfixed at a walrus in the middle of the kitchen.

"Is it strange that I'm not entirely freaked out by this?"

Blaise frowned, snatching the candle and holding it high. Definitely a walrus. It was definitely an odd sight in the kitchen. He frowned, looking at the spilled bucket. He also noticed a few dark drops smeared on the floor. He pulled out his wand and kneeled next to the giant mammal. It seemed to be sleeping contentedly—but something was off. He leaned closer, and looked up in surprise. "Er… Brace yourself."

"Why?"

"Because this isn't a walrus—it's a person that's been turned into a walrus."

Dudley just gaped, and looked at it in horror. "Dad!?"

The walrus jerked awake, beady eyes looking around. They fixed on Blaise's wand and he leapt back as it started thrashing. "Definitely a person in there. This might mean someone else already made it here. But I've still got to look around."

Dudley nodded and followed Blaise back out into the hallway.

"What's through there?" He inclined his head towards the darkness at the edge of the small light.

"The stairs—Harrys' cupboard is underneath them."

Blaise gripped his wand and took a step forward. The stairs rose up to his right, and he went to the door underneath. There was an unlocked padlock dangling from a hook, and he slowly pulled the door open. The cupboard was empty, but the smell was horrible. Like someone had been locked in for days—which Harry probably had.

"Where else would he be?" Blaise asked coldly, closing the door with a snap.

"Upstairs. In his bedroom."

"Show me."

Dudley obligingly led the way up the stairs, and Blaise had to stop and examine several dark stains on the off-white carpet. It was hard to be sure in the candle light, but he was fairly certain they were blood stains. He straightened up and followed Dudley—who was standing in the doorway of the first room. However, he didn't follow the boy in. Instead, he followed the staggering blood stains.

"This is eerie." Blaise muttered. Definitely something out of a Stephen King novel. This was the point in the book that he would always yell at the main character 'Don't be stupid! Run.' Of course, they never did. And now he could understand why.

The candle light fell on a rigid figure of a woman—her body was completely stiff, but her eyes were wide and roaming. There was a hatchet on the floor next to her, and a broken power saw. The door a few feet further down the hall stood open, and Blaise slowly stepped over the woman to peer inside.

"In here." There was a dark shape on the floor—and he quickly moved toward it. But it was only a blanket. He frowned, standing up and doing a quick survey of the room and finding more bloodstains—and what appeared to be vomit. Dudley was standing in the door when he looked up.

"He was here."

"How can you tell?"

Blaise pointed at the blood stains on the floor. "Blood trail—started in the kitchen and led up here."

"So where is he now?"

"I have no idea…" Blaise slowly went back into the hall. "Harry!?"

There was no answer—not that he was really expecting one. "Someone else got here first." It was the only reasonable conclusion—unless Potter was passed out somewhere. But there was no blood trail leaving the room—and from everything else it appeared that his classmate had fled up the stairs after turning his uncle into a walrus—he looked between the woman in the body bind and the hatchet, running his fingers over the grooves in the outside of the door. "He locked himself in."

"What?"

"Your mum… she was trying to break into the door."

"Oh." Dudley fidgeted. "So what do we do now?"

Blaise shrugged. "There's nothing more I can do—I actually better get out of here."

"But what about my mum and dad!?"

Blaise paused and considered the frozen woman at his feet before he stepped over her. "I'll send a note to the Ministry to come put them back to normal—I can't do it."

Dudley didn't argue, but followed Blaise back down the stairs. "Won't Harry get in trouble then?"

"I doubt it. He's the most beloved wizard in the wizarding world—and there's evidence of foul play." Blaise was heading towards the open door when he froze—he had made sure to close it.

"Lumos!"

Blaise blinked as he was blinded by the light, and held his wand out blindly. Dudley screamed.

"Drop your wand." It was a stern, male voice. Blaise slowly set it on the ground.

"Wait a minute!" He recognized the woman's voice. "Zabini! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came for Harry." Blaise muttered, squinting towards the voice.

The lit wand lowered, and Nymphadora Tonks stepped forward, pink hair shining in the wand light. She quickly picked up his wand and slipped it into her pocket. "For what purpose?"

"To rescue him, of course." Zabini snapped. "What are you doing here?"

"We're here to arrest Vernon Dursley for attempted murder and aggravated assault against Harry Potter." Tonks explained, frowning. "I got the order to come 'bout half an hour ago." Her eyes narrowed at him. "Were you part of that fiasco today!?"

Blaise swallowed, but grinned widely. "Part of it? Hell I was the master mind behind the whole bloody ordeal."

"Impressive." Tonks smiled, then she frowned and her hair seemed to grow a little duller. "However, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you into custody. Imagine—I didn't even have to lean on you for a confession."

Blaise smirked at her. "You can lean on me all you want—I'll confess to anything."

Several snickers followed this, and the two unnamed wizards swept past them. "We can handle things here." They muttered, slipping into the kitchen.

Dudley was still cowering against the wall. Blaise raised an eyebrow, but called after the two men who were in the kitchen. "Go easy on this one, will ya? He did try to help Harry."

He didn't wait for the mumbled reply before turning back to Tonks and holding out an arm. "Shall we?"

"You're such a flirt." Tonks mumbled, but took his arm good naturedly. "And I'll admit you have gotten better at turning on the charm since the last time I saw you—if I recall, you asked me if this was my natural color and whether or not you'd ever be able to find out for yourself."

Blaise was glad his dark skin didn't really show if he blushed or not—but his face heated up all the same. "Hey! I was thirteen."

"Excuses." Tonks mumbled, slowly leading him away from the house. He watched her smile fade—and with it her hair faded also. "Tell me about this rescue mission. I've already heard about it—but I want to hear it from you. Truth be told, I didn't believe a word of it until the Ministry sent for me and I was briefed and found out that Harry's in St. Mungos and willing to press charges."

Blaise took a deep breath. "You sure know how to ruin the mood. It's a rather horrible story—even more so because it's all true."

He heard Tonks' intake of breath and started recounting everything they knew as they walked slowly through little Whinging.


End file.
